


here for you

by blitztrigger



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blowjobs, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Whole Lotta Fluff, also, the louis/omc is just a mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1915482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blitztrigger/pseuds/blitztrigger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“I can be your boyfriend for when you go home at Easter,” Harry says in one quick breath, “Fake boyfriend, I mean. If you- um, if you want?”</i><br/> <br/>Or, an AU where Louis needs a bit of a hand, and Harry's more than willing to help out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	here for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FallingLikeThis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallingLikeThis/gifts).



> this is the first thing i've written and actually posted so hi! pls be kind.  
> it's miles longer than intended because i evidently don't know how to stop so for that i am truly sorry. i hope you enjoy!! 
> 
> and this wouldn't even exist at all if it wasn't for my love, my life [nicole](http://fleshriots.tumblr.com). my saviour who let me force her into this and then allowed me to whine at her for like, two months, love you girl <3
> 
> title is from gorgon city's song of the same name.

It’s around seven in the morning when Louis is rudely awoken by the sound of one of the cupboards in the kitchen being slammed shut by a rather zombie-esque Zayn, who appears to be clad only in his boxers and a black beanie, first fag of the day already lit and dangling from his lips.

Louis groans his protest from where he’s currently positioned face-down on the sofa in their tiny living room, cheek pressed uncomfortably into one of those decorative throw cushion-things Zayn had _insisted_ upon buying.

“Oh-- sorry bro, didn’t realise you were there,” Zayn rasps, removing the cigarette from his lips and pouring the cornflakes he lifted from the cupboard into a bowl. “See you ended up sleeping out here then. What time did you get back?”

“Not a clue, don’t even remember coming in,” Louis replies, squinting his eyes at the brightness in the room. “Must have collapsed onto the nearest available surface.”

Fuck, his mouth tastes like something took a shit in it. Not good.

“Good night, though, yeah?” Zayn asks, already seated at their ancient kitchen table and alternating between spooning cereal into his mouth and sucking on his cigarette. “Niall’s parties are always good for a laugh, like.”

“Mmm,” Louis agrees, slowly unsticking his face from the couch and unfolding himself into a sitting position before adding pointedly, “Not that you’d know, eh Zayner? Missus making you leave early and all.”

There was once a time, back in the days when Louis and Zayn actually pursued some form of third level education (well, before they dropped out), that Louis could rely on Zayn to see through any kind of night out you could imagine. Pub crawl? Duh. Rave? Definitely. Crashing someone else’s birthday party? Of course.

But now, ever since Zayn had met the wonderfully angelic Miss Perrie Edwards, all of that had gone to shit.

Now, when Louis is just starting to really get into the swing of things on a mad night out, instead of having Zayn right beside him getting just as pissed, he has Zayn in his ear giving him a ‘We’re gonna head off now, yeah?” with a cursory thumb aimed in Perrie’s general direction. The wanker.

Not that Louis actually has anything against Zayn, or Perrie for that matter. He’s actually very happy that they’ve found each other- Perrie’s been a good influence on Zayn, helped him to settle down, actually focus on his art and earn a bit of cash.

It’s just. Now _Louis’_ all alone with no-one to party with and no-one to be his trusted wingman, and well. He just can’t be having that. So he does the only thing he knows how to do best: wind Zayn up about it at all times.

“-Lou, I told you last night I was knackered, I wasn’t leaving because Perrie _told_ me to, I was leaving because I _wanted_ to-” Zayn begins frustratedly, setting his spoon down on the table and evidently preparing for a much-rehearsed argument.

Unfortunately, Louis is much too hungover to even want to muster up the brainpower that kind of battle requires, so instead he waves a floppy hand in Zayn’s direction with a, “Yeah, yeah, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Zaynie. Just a bit of fun. Do me a favour and stick the kettle on, there’s a good lad.”

Zayn rolls his eyes but actually does get up and fill the kettle, while Louis decides to bravely inspect any damage that may have occurred last night.

They’d started the night at Niall’s flat before heading to one of their favourite clubs in the city, and usually a night like that spelt disaster for Louis, his money, and the majority of his belongings.

It’s a wonder he actually managed to make it into the flat last night. More often than not, his keys usually get lost in the foray of whatever he finds himself doing on a night out. But this time, he evidently managed to keep a tight hold on them. That, or Zayn let him in, but he hasn’t heard any complaints from Zayn about having to get up in the middle of the night to let his ‘fucking wanker of a friend’ in (yet) so it seems like he’s in the clear.

Louis stands up (head throbbing in protest) just as Zayn sets a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of him, and does his customary pat down of his jeans, discovering joyfully that he has managed to come home with not only his keys, but his wallet and his phone too, completing the trifecta of things he likes to pray he’ll still have in his possession come the next morning.

So, happy days. Already his morning is going better than expected, and to top it off, his hangover isn’t even _that_ bad--not compared to usual. A good cup of tea and a fry should sort him right out. All in all, a successful night then, really.

After having completed his mandatory post-night-out checks, Louis settles himself on the sofa again to drink his tea and check his phone. As he’s sitting, he glances down to his feet and realises his best white Vans are absolutely _filthy,_ as in, beyond repair filthy, and he groans out loud. Those were his favourites, too.

“What’s wrong with you?” Zayn asks, head popping up from whatever he was looking at on his phone.

“My Vans are fucked,” Louis answers, awkwardly holding up one leg to show Zayn the damage. “Forty five quid they cost. Brand new and all.”

“Serves you right,” Zayn answers smugly. “Probably happened after we got a taxi from Niall’s to the club, and you had to be the arsehole who decided to jump in every puddle we came across on the street. You soaked Leigh all up the back of her new white dress, she was angry as fuck. Surprised you don’t remember.”

“Oh. Shit.” Louis replies. He does remember, actually, now Zayn mentions it. He’s probably going to have to buy Leigh-Anne a bottle of wine to say sorry.

He sighs, glancing down again at his Vans. He’s such an arsehole when he’s drunk. Liam always says alcohol makes Louis revert back to having the mentality of a six year old. He can imagine Liam rolling his eyes right this second and saying, “Jumping in puddles, _honestly,_ ” and really, it’s not like he wouldn’t deserve it.

After shaking off his embarrassment and taking a very fortifying gulp of tea, Louis settles back to check his phone. It’s always interesting after a night out to look through his contacts to see if he can spot any new additions-- he and Niall have started a mini-competition to see who can wind up with the weirdest name in their contact list with zero explanation. So far, Louis is winning with ‘ _The One with the Eyes_ ’, Niall coming in a close second with _Old but Still Fit (?)_ ’.

Somewhat disappointingly, there doesn’t seem to be any exciting new additions to Louis’ phone book, but he makes a mental note to text Niall and check if he’s had any more luck, which, knowing the charming bastard, he probably has.

Next Louis goes for his texts. He opens one from Zayn, his usual _‘pls don’t get too plastered. on my way home with pez now, stay safe u wanker! aha x’_ , after he leaves halfway through the night, and there’s another one which says it’s been opened but Louis has no recollection of ever reading, meaning he must have opened it at some point last night while he was halfway to monkied.

It’s from his manager, Sarah, at the cafe he works in round the corner from their flat and it says, “ _Hi Louis. Sorry to bother you on a Sat night but Michelle’s phoned and said she’s got a bug and won’t be able to make it into work tomorrow morn. Would you be able to cover for her? Shift starts at 8.30am. Need to know asap, thanks. Sarah.”_

Now, if Louis doesn’t have a very clear recollection of _reading_ the text, then he certainly doesn’t remember _replying_ to the text, and judging by said reply, he was _well_ past halfway to monkied. He’d managed, _“Sure thnig sarak ! b there in the monring ! lou xc_ ”, which he can find multiple things very wrong with.

The first of which is the fact that he hadn’t received an angry text in reply from Sarah telling him how unprofessional he was, and the second was that somehow, someway his very drunk self had thought that agreeing to a Sunday morning shift was a good idea: that is _never_ a good idea.

Sunday morning is always the dreaded shift, and this weekend was one of the blessed few Louis didn’t have to work, so _fuck you_ drunk self, really.

Louis sighs (he feels like he’s been sighing all morning) and slides deeper into the couch, kicking his shoes off and tucking his knees up under his chin.

“What’s wrong with you now?” comes Zayn’s voice from the table once again.

“Go text Perrie somewhere else if you’re just going to be an arsehole to me during this troubled time,” Louis replies flatly, closing his eyes.

“Oi, fuck off,” Zayn squawks, sounding mildly indignant even though he knows Louis is right. “Seriously though, what’s wrong?”

“Just looked at my phone and saw that I texted Sarah and told her I’d work at half eight this morning ‘cause she asked me to cover Michelle,” Louis replies with yet another deflated sigh. “What kind of person does that kind of thing to _himself_? Like, really. A hungover Sunday morning shift is less preferable to like...death. Or something.”

“Oh. I thought it was something serious,” Zayn says, sounding like his usual arseholey self while getting up and rinsing his cereal bowl in the sink. “Think of the money, Lou, and stop your whining. It could be worse. And go shower, I can smell the vodka fumes off you from here.”

Louis flips him the bird in response, head still tucked between his knees, before accepting his fate and going back to reading any other messages he may have missed before he showers.

There’s nothing else to read, except one from his mum, which makes him wrinkle his nose a little before proceeding to open it.

_Hi darling, mummy here, just checking in to see how you’re doing. Hope all is well in London town, tell all the gang we say hello! While I’m here I may as well ask if you & the boyf want to come up to Donny and pay us all a little visit over Easter break? I know it’s short notice but please say yes Lou, I would love to meet the lovely boy making you so happy recently. Lots and lots of love and hopefully see you soon xxxx_

_*_

Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck._

Louis actually can’t bring himself to read the message through again. He’s honestly half convinced that it’s not real, and that’s it’s some sort of hangover-induced hallucination, even though the message is still open on the screen and sitting squarely in the palm of his hand, taunting him.

He _knew_ it was a mistake to even open the message from his mum, especially after how the past month has gone.

Louis brings his hands up to cover his face and slowly sinks down into the fold in the centre of the sofa, contemplating his life choices and cursing whoever approved the decision of allowing him to become an adult. So far, it’s not been working out too brilliantly for him.

He casts his mind back to about a month ago, around the middle of March, to what was undeniably one of the worst months he’s ever had to endure (and for once, he’s not even being dramatic or anything.)

At the start of February, Louis had met this amazingly good looking guy called Ronan in a bar somewhere in Soho.  Ronan was Irish, had a beard, and wore the same leather jacket absolutely everywhere. Louis was maybe a little bit in love (or maybe a little obsessed, whatever way you wanted to look at it, really.)

For all of the three and a bit weeks Louis knew Ronan, they basically made it their mission to get pissed in as many bars throughout London as possible, as often as possible.

Louis loved this idea, especially when most nights Ronan came back to his at two in the morning and let Louis blow him on the couch, both of them absolutely _hammered._

Unfortunately, Louis’ friends _didn’t_ love the idea all that much, and especially didn’t like the fact that Louis was constantly passing up on going out with them in favour of being with Ronan. Particularly Zayn, who didn’t really appreciate coming to get a drink of water in the middle of the night and instead managing to receive an eyeful of Louis on his knees on their living room floor.

After about three weeks of constant _RonanRonanRonan,_ fortunately for Louis’s friends and actually rather shitily for Louis, Louis woke up one morning (in his own bed for once) and found no sign of Ronan, even though he was 98% sure he’d passed out beside him the night before. There was no _‘see you later’_ note, no stray items of clothing left behind, nothing.

And Louis, like the absolute sap he was, had been spending nearly every waking minute of his time with Ronan and hadn’t even bothered to get his number because there was ‘ _really no need’_ , according to the arsehole of the century.

Louis wasn’t an idiot, and knew what it was to have been dumped. Fucked and chucked. He had told Zayn as much as he stared into the distance and nursed his hangover over a cup of tea the morning it had happened.

“I’ve been fucked and chucked.”

“Good,” is all he’d gotten in return, and yeah, he kinda deserved that.

“I’m sorry. I’m a dick, I know.”

“Don’t need to say sorry to me,” Zayn had said, nonchalant as ever, spooning his Sugarpuffs into his mouth. “Say sorry to Perrie though, she’s angry as fuck. She phoned your mum this morning before she left, so you should be expecting a call, like, now.”

“She fucking _what--_ ”

“She never said anything about Ronan, though. Just that we’re worried about you, so chill out,” Zayn had continued, having noticed that Louis was decidedly not ‘chill’ with his wild pacing around their tiny kitchen.

Obviously that had to be the moment Louis’s phone had started ringing, caller ID flashing “ **Mum** ” at him, because _of course_ that would fucking happen.

He’d answered the phone tentatively, expecting a barrage of “ _I’m so disappointed”’_ and _“you’re such a bad example”_ and instead had received tears and “ _I’m so, so worried about you”’_ , succeeding in making him feel like the worst person on the planet.

After a half an hour of grovelling apologies and more than a few tears shed on both sides, the conversation had started dying down, when his mum said something that had made Louis clutch his phone like a lifeline. He’d felt his heart skip a beat.

“Lou,” his mum had sighed, “I just don’t know what we’re going to do. I thought London would be good for you- spreading your wings and all that, but now I just- I don’t know. Maybe coming back home is something we need to look at--”

Louis had felt his breath catch in his throat. Going home was definitely _not_ something they had to look at. Not now, not ever.

He _couldn’t_ go back and live in stuffy, shitty Doncaster with his mum again after experiencing London and meeting the amazing people he was lucky enough to call his best friends. Definitely not an option, no matter what.

“You need something more stable,” his mum had soldiered on, “Maybe you could even meet someone nice here-- my friend Sheila from down the road knows a lovely boy and I’d be happy to introduce you--"

Louis had had to do something, so he did the only thing he was ever really able to do well: Lie.

“But--Mum, mum--” Louis interrupted with a forced laugh that he hoped sounded more faintly amused than extremely terrified, “I- er, I _have_ met someone--it’s early days, but, um, it’s going quite well. I think. I didn’t want to say anything cause like, it’s all very _new_ , but--yeah.”

He was greeted with silence at the end of the phone, something he knew from experience could either be a very good thing or a very bad thing. It wasn’t often his mum was rendered speechless.

Eventually, he’d heard an intake of breath, before, “Louis Tomlinson, you better not be having me on, because if you are--”

Louis had laughed for real then, a bark that hurt his throat on its way out. A bark that summed up the huge ironic hell-hole that Louis had just voluntarily sucked himself into

“No, Mum,” he’d let out weakly, contemplating what his life had become all the while, “Not having you on.”

His mum had squealed then, that kind of high-pitched scream only other mums and dogs can hear, while Louis had held the phone away from his ear and sighed

After his near-deafening, all Louis can remember is a constant stream of never-ending questions from his mum, starting with “What’s his name, Lou? Tell me, quick,” and ending with “Does he have any allergies?” what _felt_ like fifteen minutes later.

“Um,” Louis had started very eloquently, still mildly shocked from the onslaught, “Like I said mum, it’s, um--it’s early days, and we’re taking it really slow. I actually wasn’t even going to mention anything for another couple of weeks or so, but--”

“Oh, go on Lou, tell me one thing about him at least, it’s not the bloody secret service!” his mum had butted in, starting to sound more and more like an excited puppy.  

“Shit, okay, um, he’s...allergic to cats?” As it came out of his mouth he knew it was a shit lie. He didn’t execute it well at _all._ He needed to get himself out of the conversation, and fast. “But, er, anyways mum, I’ve--I’ve got to go, I think I can, um, hear Zayn calling me from his room. So yeah, talk to you soon, okay?”

“But--Louis,” he heard his mum start, “You didn’t tell me--”

“Sorry mum, really got to go, Zayn’s looking for me. Love you, bye!”

Louis had ended the call before his mum could say anything else, throwing his phone and head onto the kitchen table and letting out a long “Fuckkkkkk.”

 *

After that fateful conversation with his mum, Louis had sat himself down and decided on his plan of action. It consisted mainly of the word “Shit”, but he had eventually decided on letting his mum believe he was in this wonderful burgeoning relationship for a week more at most. That would keep her happy and off his back, at least.

Unfortunately, like most of his well laid plans (and well, the majority of his life choices really), that didn’t really work out for him.

Instead, what he got was his mum texting him almost everyday, asking stupid questions about his fantasy boyfriend, and he was fast running out of polite ways to say ‘ _please stop asking me questions about this please please please’._

Eventually, he started giving out the vaguest of details, just to placate his very persistent mother.

To her, “ _So what does he do for a living??_ ” question, he had replied, “ _A bit of this and a bit of that, goes in and out of jobs bit like me x_ ” and to her “ _Any brothers and sisters then? :-)_ ” he had replied, “ _i’ve never asked him lol. bad boyfriend, me. we like to talk about all the girls and ernie most of the time x_ ” because he knew the mention of his siblings would throw him mum onto a completely different track, and sure enough, she had started gushing about how big Ernest and Doris had gotten and how she wished Louis could see them more often. Louis would have given himself a pat on the back at how well he could read his mum, but he was too busy being shit scared of fucking up, so.

It had carried on. Louis fed his mum the tiniest, vaguest details and yet still managed to build up some semblance of a boyfriend that she seemed happy with. And _that_ was the thing.

She was so happy. So, so utterly delighted that Louis had seemed to find himself someone stable and that he seemed content with, that Louis couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth, or even that he and this mystery boyfriend had broken up, no matter how many times he tried to convince himself it was the right thing to do. And _yes,_ thank you, he _knows_ that’s a fucked up way to look at things, but _honestly_ , when had the whole thing even come anywhere remotely close to _not_ being fucked up.

 *

So now, it’s back to a mildly hungover, very firmly still-in-disbelief Louis, sitting on his shitty leather sofa in his tiny living room and staring blankly into the distance, mind running over who _exactly_ was in charge of letting him do anything ever.

Louis taps the screen of his phone to bring it back to life and decides to check just one last time if the message is actually real and not something he dreamt up in his hangover haze, and-- nope. The message is definitely real and definitely scaring him shitless.

He drags a hand through his already messy hair, closes his eyes and leans even further back into the sofa, groaning out a, “Zaynnnnn”, before bringing his knees back up underneath his chin.

As predicted, Zayn appears almost immediately, still in his boxers and beanie but this time, instead of a cigarette dangling from his mouth, he’s got his toothbrush and a mouth full of foamy toothpaste.

“What is it now,” Zayn slurs around the brush, looking very pissed off having been interrupted during his precious dental hygiene routine.

“You’re actually not even going to believe what’s happened, to be honest,” Louis answers, hands covering his face.

He’d decided to let Zayn in on his grand _pretending-to-have-a-boyfriend_ plan about two days after it happened, because a) Louis has never been any good at keeping secrets, especially from Zayn, and b) he was struggling to come up with good answers to his mum’s questions that would keep her suspicions down and really, he needed a bit of a hand.

When he’d told him, Zayn had first stared at him for about a minute in complete and utter disbelief that someone could be so stupid (and Louis didn’t really blame him), before bursting into a fit of laughter. So, really, he’d taken it better than Louis had expected.

And if Louis had thought telling Zayn would have resulted in useful avoidance-type answers to throw his mum off the scent, he was sadly mistaken.

“Tell her that he’s a secret service agent and that for legal reasons you can’t reveal his name, like, upon pain of death. Actually, that’d be quite sick,” was one of his helpful suggestions, with another being, “Tell her that he’s a notorious serial killer who’s on the run, and you know that getting into a relationship with him is a mistake but you just can’t help how you feel,” that came to him while they were sat watching Crimewatch at home one Wednesday night.

So _technically_ , Louis wasn’t facing the mammoth task of convincing his mum that he was seeing a completely made-up human being alone. But for all the good Zayn was doing, it certainly _felt_ like he was.

“What’s happened, then?” Zayn interrupts Louis’ train of thought, removing the toothbrush from his mouth and placing one hand on his bony hip, looking thoroughly disgruntled. “Need me to lift you from the sofa to the bathroom? Lost all power in your arms and legs?”

“No,” Louis whispers from his cocoon on the couch, “Not exactly.”

“Well _what_ then, for fuck’s sake Lou,” Zayn says, sounding exasperated. “Haven’t got all day, spit it out.”

“Just got a text from my mum,” Louis replies, just as quietly.

Zayn snorts and says, “That it? What’s she want to know now? Mystery man’s blood type?”

“Nope,” is all Louis can muster, before holding out his phone in Zayn’s general direction and waiting for him to take it from him.

“Lou, you’re actually freaking me out now. What the fuck’s going on?” Zayn says worriedly, advancing towards Louis and grabbing the phone from his hand, before proceeding to read the message still open on the screen.

“Oh,” is all Zayn manages after about fifteen seconds of reading. “Well. That’s, um, not good.”

“Ha,” Louis laughs flatly. “No. Not really.”

Zayn gives the text another read. “What’re you gonna tell her?”

“Dunno, to be honest,” Louis answers, still staring into space.

Suddenly, an idea hits him. A really, really stupid idea, but an idea nonetheless. He lifts himself up off the sofa and shoots his best pleading look in Zayn’s direction.

“Zaynie, how would you feel about-”

“No.”

“But you didn’t even-”

“No, Louis. No way.”

“But she already _kind of_ thinks there’s something-”

“I said _no,_ Louis,” Zayn says, sounding very serious. “Don’t make the situation worse than it already is. Come up with some kind of excuse not to go, text her and end this stupid thing before it gets out of control, okay?”

“Okay. Yeah. You’re right. I’ll sort it out,” Louis nods determinedly, standing up and stretching. “Time s’it?”

“Twenty to eight,” Zayn informs him. “Go shower and get dressed or you’re gonna be late for work.”

As he makes his way to his bedroom to grab a towel, Louis resolves to have this situation sorted by the end of the day. He just needs to come up with a plan of action, get rid of this hangover and clear his head, and he _should_ be boyfriend-free by this evening.

 *

When Louis reaches work (not _exactly_ on time, but near enough), the sun has fully risen in the sky, and his mood has lifted just a little when he sees who’s working the dreaded Sunday morning shift alongside him.

It’s Harry, who is, coincidentally enough, a mate of Niall’s from uni. He’s attractive, in that weird sort of _I-don’t-give-a-shit_ way, all floaty shirts and patterned headscarves holding back his unruly curls.

Louis would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about maybe trying it on with Harry before. One night in particular floods back into his mind while he catches a glimpse of Harry taking down the chairs from the table, singing along to whatever song is playing on the radio

It was months ago at Niall’s birthday party, and Louis had been progressively making his way closer to Harry all evening and was just about to pull out some of his well-practiced moves when Niall had appeared from nowhere, swooped Harry under his arm and out of the room, all the while giving Louis a kind of _don’t even go there, mate_ kind of look. It was disappointing, yes, but Louis could respect his friends’ wishes. He _could._

So, Harry was essentially a no-go area, and Louis was fine with that. It actually worked out pretty well in the end, because not long after Niall’s birthday, Harry had started working in the café, and Louis was _very_ thankful he’d decided to listen to Niall and managed to avoid any awkward situations, no matter how fit Harry looked.

Louis allows himself a bit of a chuckle imagining how Harry would react if they _had_ hooked up and then magically found themselves working in such close quarters. Louis lets himself into the café, shooting Harry a grin and a wave before ducking into the back, shucking off his hoodie and shoving an apron around his waist.

He heads back out onto the floor of the café just as Harry’s flipping over the ‘ _Open!’_ sign on the door. Louis jumps up onto the counter beside the till, sitting on his hands and swinging his legs.

“Alright Harold,” he grins, watching Harry as he washes his hands, “How’s things? Do us a cuppa, there’s a good lad. Bit delicate today.”  

“Hi, Lou. M’good, thanks,” Harry replies in his low voice, curls bouncing as he turns his head over his shoulder to chat while he fills the huge kettle the café houses. “Good weekend, then?”

“Mmm,” Louis hums noncommittally. “Last night was good. This morning not so much.”

“Oh?” Harry asks, one eyebrow raised as he lifts two mugs out of the cupboard and pours milk in. “How come? Hangover really that bad?”

“Hah, no. Wish that was it,” Louis laughs flatly, removing his hands from under him and running one through his hair. “Nah, got a bit of a... um, a surprise text from my mum.”

Harry sets one of the mugs down beside Louis and takes the other himself before leaning on the counter opposite, long legs crossed at the ankles. “A good kind of surprise or a bad kind of surprise?” he asks.

“Bad. Very, very bad,” Louis informs him, gently closing his eyes and bringing the cup to his mouth. “The worst kind of surprise.”

He swallows his tea and sighs, rolling his neck slowly from side to side. Even tea isn’t helping his brain to slow down and _stop_ thinking about everything for a minute. Ugh. Louis is going to have to sort this shit today, definitely no putting it off to be solved on a different day like he usually does.

“And...do you want to, um, maybe... talk about it or is it like, really personal?” Harry asks hesitantly, “Cause I’ve been told I’m a really good listener. Niall says so anyways.” He smiles at Louis, always so genuine. “But I obviously understand if it’s none of my business. You can tell me to piss off, if you want. Promise.”  

Louis runs it over in his mind while he takes another gulp of tea.  So far, the only people who know about this whole...situation are himself and Zayn. While Zayn’s been next to _no_ help whatsoever, it did feel like a weight off his chest to at least let _someone_ else know what he’d done, even if it made him look phenomenally idiotic. And plus, maybe Harry actually would be helpful in _some way,_ or at the very least not be as much of a dick about it as Zayn. Louis is quite willing to take any form of comfort he can get now, really, even if what he’d done wasn’t _exactly_ something that really deserved any kind of sympathy at all. He was more in need of a slap, probably. But still.

Louis surveys Harry, all honest eyes and stupidly long torso. He takes a deep breath and another drink of tea to steady himself, and then exhales in one heavy sigh.

“Okay, Harold,” Louis says finally, “I hope you’re ready to think I’m a twat forevermore.”

“Hardly, Lou,” Harry laughs and rolls his eyes, “Come on, hit me. I’m sure I’ve heard worse. I’m best mates with _Niall_ , and I’m sure you’ve heard what he’s capable of when he’s in the mood. Or when he’s got enough beer in him.”

Louis gives a bark of laughter at that, which Harry looks very pleased about, before setting his mug down and leaning forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “True. Alrighty then. Here we go.”

He launches into the story, starting at the beginning with the whole Ronan fiasco (maybe editing that part of the whole fateful tale _just_ a little and leaving out the part where he’d only known him two weeks and was more than a bit obsessed- he had some pride left, thanks) and ending with the text from his mum.

While Louis’ talking, Harry’s face slowly becomes more and more incredulous as each quite frankly, _awful_ decision Louis has made over the past month is added on, until Louis finally finishes with, “And now I have to come up with a vaguely plausible excuse for why I’m not going to be able to make it back home over Easter or I’m pretty sure Zayn’s gonna chuck me out on the street and everything with mum is gonna go to shit once she finds out. Which she will, eventually. So, everything’s just peachy, to be honest.”

“Shit, Louis,” is all Harry seems able to manage after blinking his big eyes a few times in disbelief. “I don’t even...when you said you got a surprise text from your mum I was expecting something along the lines of...I dunno, ‘I’m pregnant’, or something like that. Not…” Harry waves both his hands around, “...all of that! Jesus.”

“You know what,” Louis says, jumping off the counter and placing his now-empty cup in the dishwasher, “I’m kind of at the stage now where I wouldn’t really be opposed to my mum telling me she was pregnant. But alas, no such luck.”

Louis tightens the tie of his apron round his waist and shoots Harry a tight smile, just as the first customer of the day walks in to the café, bell above the door jingling and signaling their arrival.

Harry does the same as Louis, placing his cup in the dishwasher and gets ready to serve, his face still an amusing mixture of shock, confusion and sympathy, his forehead all wrinkled and eyebrows pressed closely together, plush mouth downturned.

“I wish I could do something,” he informs Louis, voice low to avoid the new addition to the café from overhearing, “It’s such a shitty position you’re in. I wish I had some...I dunno... _advice_ , even. I hate feeling useless.”

Louis reaches a hand out and rubs Harry’s bicep in a grateful way _(note to self: they are as nice as suspected)_ and gives him another smile, one of the most genuine he’s given since this whole fiasco started. “It’s not your problem, Harold. It was just nice to have someone else to tell, really. Don’t you worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

At Harry’s disbelieving snort, Louis makes his way round the counter toward the customer and adds with what he hopes is a reassuring wink, “It’ll be sorted by tonight, one way or another, trust me. Now, do us a favour and stick the kettle on again.”

*

After the first customer of the day, the café starts to pick up a bit of momentum with a steady stream of people coming and going, all enjoying a lazy Sunday. (Which Louis is _very_ jealous of, incidentally- he could be in bed right now, sleeping off his, albeit now quite mild hangover, and yet here he is, bringing _other_ people with hangovers a fry to sort them out. He’s never forgiving his drunk-self for the stunt he pulled last night, that’s for sure.)

With the café doing a steady trickle of business, this means that throughout the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon Louis and Harry are kept pretty busy and don’t really have much time to chat about the bomb Louis just dropped. Louis is actually kind of glad about that. Keeping busy and avoiding his problems is usually the manner he likes to work in, really.

Throughout the day, at random intervals, Louis will catch Harry waiting for the coffee machine to finish, or putting dishes in the sink, or wiping down the counters- staring at him very intensely, deep frown present on his face, as though he’s trying to figure out some complicated math problem and just can’t crack it.

In fact, Louis catches Harry out on his little staring game so many times that he eventually decides to head back to the main counter, checking Harry’s hip with his own and winking, “Think any harder, Styles, and your face will be stuck like that,” to which Harry merely giggles weakly, ducking his head and going back to whatever task he was at.

Finally, around 5PM, the last customer of the day leaves and it’s just Louis and Harry left in the quiet of the café, Louis brushing the floors and Harry setting the chairs on top of the tables.

“Lou,” comes as Harry sets the last chair on top of it’s corresponding table, “I’ve been thinking-”

“I had noticed that, yeah,” Louis interrupts with a laugh, straightening up from where he was brushing the dirt from the floor into a dustpan. “Go on then, Curly. What were you using all your brain cells up on?”

Harry makes an unhappy noise as he crosses the room, eyebrows furrowed. “Heyyyy, I’m trying to help! Be nice.”

“Okay, okay,” Louis says, mock-bowing in Harry’s direction, before laughing and turning to jump up on the counter, legs swinging. “I do apologise. Continue, please.”

“Right,” Harry says with a huff, “As I was _saying_ before I was rudely interrupted, I’ve been thinking, like, all day, and if you want--only if you want though, you don’t have to, no pressure at _all_ \--”

Louis rolls his eyes fondly and makes a circular motion with one of his hands. “Spit it out, Harold! I want to get home before midnight.”

“I can be your boyfriend for when you go home at Easter,” Harry says in one quick breath. “Fake boyfriend, I mean. If you- um, if you want?”  

Louis is speechless. Well, almost speechless, because much like his mum, there isn’t much that’ll shut him up completely. _That_ certainly wasn’t what he was expecting.

“Are you joking? Or what?” is really all Louis seems capable of at the present time, brain ticking into overdrive. _Fuck.  It could- maybe, just maybe- work… It’s ridiculous, but then again, so is the whole fucking thing, so- what if-_

“No, I’m, er, I’m being serious,” Harry interrupts Louis’ frantic thoughts, an almost scared look on his face, hands toying with the frayed sleeve of his top.  “My mum and stepdad, and my sister and her boyfriend are going to Austria on a skiing trip for Easter week, and I was supposed to go but I couldn’t afford it. And, er, I was just going to spend Easter with friends here anyways, so it’s not like I’m going to miss out on anything family-wise. I’ve got a pretty clear schedule that week, you know--if you’re, like, worried about that or anything. I can completely do it.”

Louis still finds himself unable to compute what had just happened. He honestly hadn’t even _considered_ that anyonein their right mind would even think about offering to help like that. Harry obviously takes the look of sheer shock on Louis’ face as a bad sign and immediately starts stammering his apologies, backing off towards the staff room, “I’m sorry, I just--I dunno, I wanted to help and I thought--”

“Harry,” Louis manages to croak out eventually, finally coming back to himself and managing to interrupt Harry’s nervous babbling, “Are you sure? Like, really, really sure--cause this is a fucking _weird_ situation to get yourself dragged into. I need you to be sure. And I’m not putting you under any pressure at all, but like, if you could do it you’d be helping me out, like, a lot. More than a lot. That’s putting it lightly, really.”

At Louis’ words, Harry seems to almost deflate with relief, as though he’d been holding his breath--as though he’d been waiting for Louis to be _angry_ at his suggestion _,_ almost. He smiles, hesitantly, but already looks much happier-- more confident about his offer than he did a minute ago.

“I’m sure, Louis. Seriously,” Harry says, moving until he’s right in front of Louis. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure. I just want to _help,_ all day you’ve looked so...I dunno. Lost. Or something.”

He reaches out to unfold Louis’ arms from where they’re crossed tightly, _nervously_ , across his chest. Once he’s done so, he keeps a firm hold on Louis’ forearms, his big hands gripping the soft skin at the tops of Louis’ arms. //It’s weirdly comforting, in a way. _Reassuring_ , Louis thinks. That’s what Harry’s doing. He’s telling Louis’ it’s okay. //Louis almost wants to laugh, because really, it should be the other way around. _He_ should be the one telling Harry that this crazy, shitty plan he’s more or less already agreed to is going to be easy- that it’s going to work out.

But the thing is, Louis doesn’t know if it will. It could be a disaster, for all he knows. His mum could (and probably will, knowing Louis’ luck) completely see through the whole bloody thing, and God only knows _how_ she would react-- it actually kind of sends Louis a bit batty if he even begins to contemplate her reaction, so he does what he does best and ignores that annoying little part of his brain (for now.)

Louis takes a deep breath, gathers himself, and gives Harry’s arms a tight squeeze before letting go.

“I know I keep saying this, and I know you’ve already answered, but I _need_ you to be sure,” Louis says, staring right into Harry’s eyes, “because all of,” he waves his hands in front of him, “ _this_ isn’t just to fool my mum.”

Louis wrinkles his nose as Harry actually _laughs_ , a kind of exasperated little giggle at Louis’ continued need for reassurance.

“Who else am I ‘fooling’ in your grand scheme then, 007?” Harry asks from behind his air quotes, a giant sarcastic smile on his face, another giggle slipping out.

Louis shakes his head in disbelief-- Harry is a nutter. A nutter who has absolutely _no_ idea what he’s agreeing to.

“Well, I have four very smart, very nosy little sisters to take into consideration too, and knowing my mum, a million of her friends. So, like. You’re gonna have your work cut out. I’m just, y’know, letting you know what you’re getting into. Cause I think you’re mental, and I wouldn’t do this for someone even if they were giving me a million quid,” Louis tells him matter-of-factly.

“Oh shit,” Harry says, sounding very down and out, “And here was me doing it because I thought I’d be up a million quid at the end, not out of the kindness of my own heart. There goes my plan of getting all of my student loans paid off and moving to LA.”

Harry shoots a cheeky grin across to Louis, who reaches out and gives Harry the punch on the arm he deserves.

“Oi! Quite the comedian, you are,” Louis says, sticking his nose up in the air and folding his arms across his chest. “I’ll have you know this is of the utmost importance. If you’re not gonna take it seriously, I’m going to have to find my lovely fake boyfriend from an alternative source.”

“Oh please, anything but that!” Harry mock-pleads, hands clasped in front of Louis, “Anything but that! It won’t happen again.”

As Louis cracks and lets out a guffaw, Harry somehow manages to sneak a hand down to Louis’ side, drilling one of his fingers into Louis’ waist unrelentingly until Louis is a writhing, squealing mess.

“Oh my god, oh my god, truce-- _TRUCE_ ,” Louis shouts eventually, breathless with laughter, as Harry finally lets up and tries to catch his own breath.

“You’ve _got_ to lighten up, Lou,” Harry says after a minute of breathy silence. “It’s really not gonna be that bad. You’ve built it up for too long in your head.”

Louis snorts, shooting Harry a doubtful look, but Harry soldiers on. “From what you’ve told me, your mum is just happy you’ve found someone, and all she wants is to meet them. It’s that simple. Plus, now you’ve got the best fake boyfriend ever,” he sends Louis a dazzling smile, which Louis rolls his eyes at, folding his arms primly.

“It’s gonna work out, Lou,” Harry says much more confidently than Louis feels right now. “We’ll go down to Doncaster, show them how absolutely, positively, hopelessly in love we are, say our goodbyes and then we’ll come back home. Simple as. And you’ll wonder what all your stressing was all about, you’ll see.”

 *

For the week leading up to what Zayn has dubbed _‘Operation Louis-is-a-twat’_ , Louis and Harry continually swap texts, sharing the basic kind of information most _normal_ couples would ordinarily know about each other anyways, a task that is no easy feat considering the enormous possibility of Louis’ mum asking just about any question under the sun that may pop into her head, as proven by her never-ending texts. That’s not to mention the fact that Louis’ sisters are just about the four nosiest children he’s ever come across in his life.

So, Louis is very aware that what he’s trying to pull off may be on the same scale as one of those _Mission Impossible_ films (he’s never actually seen them, but that’s neither here nor there), and Zayn isn’t actually doing anything to make the situation any easier on him.

In fact, Zayn was so annoyed when Louis came home on Sunday from work and told him that he _had_ actually managed to find a pretend boyfriend for the week and _wasn’t_ going to text his mum telling her he wasn’t coming home after all, that he’d marched off into his room and not spoken to Louis for a full day after.

It was only the next day, when he’d calmed down and more than likely smoked his way through five million cigarettes that Zayn had emerged, sighing a long suffering ‘You are _such_ a fucking twat.” And thus, the name of the plan was born.

So now, it’s the night before the Easter holidays start, meaning it’s the night before Louis and Harry are supposed to make the trek down to Doncaster on the train. Louis is sitting with a rapidly-warming bottle of beer pressed against his forehead, desperately trying to remember the name of Harry’s sister’s best friend--something that’s not being made any easier with Zayn sitting on the opposite end of the couch, a box of chocolates on his knee and Louis’ phone, filled with a list of facts about Harry, in his hand, smug grin on his face.

“You’re fucked, mate,” is seemingly the only supportive, best-friend like thing Zayn can think of saying. “You literally only know his full name, his birthday, and his family’s names and even then you’re a bit iffy.”

Louis groans, taking a hasty gulp of his beer. “Fuck, I know. The only thing that’s giving me any comfort is the fact that I’m good at bullshitting, which you know, is kind of how I got here in the first place. But whatever. As long as Harry doesn’t object to his...I dunno, favourite colour being red and not green, we should be fine. I know the basics, at least.”

“True,” Zayn sighs, handing Louis’ phone back to him before stretching. “Look Lou, I’m knackered and I’ve got to get up early tomorrow to get the train to Newcastle with Pez, so I’m gonna hit the hut, but like, I just want to say, I know I’ve been a twat to you the past couple of weeks--not that you didn’t deserve it, mind you--but like, I know this means a lot to you, so good luck, yeah? Don’t fuck it up, I believe in you, all that good stuff. Okay?”

He gets up from the sofa and passes by Louis, giving his head an affectionate push and his hair a ruffle, soft smile on his face from where he’s stopped, standing against the door, one hand resting against his belly on the inside of his cosy grey t-shirt he only wears inside the flat, hair all messy and his eyes half-lidded with tiredness.

It’s Louis’ favourite kind of Zayn, the one only he (and Perrie now, too, he supposes) really gets to see, not the usual styled-to-perfection leather clad Zayn everyone else gets presented with, and it means a lot to Louis to hear Zayn actually wishing him well after everything that’s gone on between them over the head of all this.

Not that he ever thought that he _wouldn’t_ , but the past couple of weeks have been a little bit scary, even kind of lonely, especially when Zayn, the one person he can usually count on, was seemingly very disinterested and well, kind of arsehole-y about the whole thing. Which yes, Louis is very able to admit he deserved, but still. It’s nice to have the Zayn he’s used to back, in a way.

Louis gives him a smile back, ducking his head a little to try and hide the pleased look he’s sure he’s sporting, “Thanks, man. And thanks for all your help today, even if you were an arsehole the rest of the time,” Louis winks. He lifts one of the pillows from the sofa and chucks it at Zayn’s head. “Now _go_ \-- sleep, and have a good time with Perrie, yeah? Tell her family I said hello and Happy Easter and stuff. Yours too.”

Zayn lifts the pillow and chucks it right back at Louis, laughing, “Night, dickhead. Will do. And tell yours the same, yeah? And Harry, of course,” he adds with a grin, finally leaving the room.

*

The next thing Louis is consciously aware of is the sound of his alarm ringing incessantly in his ear, that fucking _annoying_ Marimba tone that he meant to change but never got round to. He makes a mental note to make sure and change the stupid thing before he actually chucks his phone out the window because of it.

He gropes his hand under his pillow and finally retrieves it, shutting the bloody thing up. He squints his eyes at the time at the top of the screen and blurrily makes out that it’s five past seven in the morning, or rather, much earlier than Louis prefers to be awake at any given time.

The day before, he and Harry had organised that they would get the 8.03AM train from Kings Cross so they would arrive in Doncaster at about twenty to ten in the morning. This gives his mum a chance to get the kids and anything else she needs sorted out before they landed on her doorstep.

They’d arranged that Harry would come and meet Louis at his flat for around half seven or so, meaning they would have enough time to get to Kings and hopefully miss out on the craziest parts of the rush hour traffic, so Louis really has to get a wriggle on. He’d originally set his alarm for quarter to seven but obviously, (being Louis) he’s slept through it and, of course, is running late.

Louis has a speedy shower to wake him up a little more, before throwing on the closest pair of black jeans he can get his hands on, a white t-shirt and a denim shirt. He shoves on his Vans and as he’s doing one final check over the bag with all his stuff in for the week, the doorbell rings.

Half seven, right on the dot, Louis snorts, checking his phone as he pushes himself off his bed, grabbing his bag and his wallet. Obviously, Harry Styles is very punctual.

He adds it to his mental ‘ _Things I definitely know about Harry_ ’ list, right next to ‘ _his sister is called Gemma and she’s 24_ ’, giving himself a bit of a clap on the back for actually remembering. He was worried he’d lose half of what he knew while he was sleeping, honestly. It wouldn’t exactly be the first time he’d have woken up with absolutely no knowledge of the previous day.

Louis does one final sweep over the flat before he goes and when he’s satisfied all the windows are closed and there are no potential causes for a fire lying around (like that one time he’d accidentally left his straighteners on), he grabs his keys and heads to the door, pulling it open with a grin.

He’s greeted with a smiling but still quite sleepy-looking Harry Styles, looking very quirky in his skinniest of skinny jeans, a mostly-unbuttoned brown plaid shirt, and one of those weird, wide brimmed hats only farmers would ever really consider wearing perched on his unruly mop of hair. He’s wearing his pointy, Chelsea-style boots that Louis always takes the piss out of for being the same colour as vomit, but overall, Harry looks quite...well, he looks lovely. Very...boyfriendy, Louis supposes. His mum will be pleased, at least, and Lottie will be well impressed that Louis was able to bag someone on Harry’s level.

“Alright, Harold,” Louis says with a nod, pulling the door of the flat closed behind him and locking it up. “You trying to seduce me with your shirt buttoned that low? You’ve already bagged me, mate, sorry to tell you. I’m easy,” Louis winks, pulling at the open part of Harry’s shirt playfully. “You’re on your way to meet the family and everything.”

Harry laughs loudly, the hand not holding his ever-present phone shooting up to cover his mouth. “Shit, you figured out my plan, Louis. I should have known,” he says, head shaking causing his hat to come dangerously close to falling off his head. “I’ll button it up before we get to yours, keep up my angelic boyfriendly appearance and all that.”

“Yeah,” Louis snorts, “Wouldn’t want my mum under the impression I’ve got with some slutty farmer type, God forbid.” They start to make their way down the narrow hall of Louis’ building, a tight squeeze for both of them plus their bags with a week’s worth of stuff in.

Harry crows with laughter again, to which Louis has to give him a push and a “Shhh!,” pointing at the doors of the other flats on the same corridor as his and Zayn’s. It’s only twenty five to eight, and knowing Louis’ neighbours, a lot earlier than most of them tend to rise. Harry seems to realise what Louis means, and quickly makes a zipping motion across his lips, stifling a giggle.

 *

Finally, the early-morning chaos of London and one angry taxi driver later, they just about manage to make it to Kings Cross in time to hop on the 8:03AM train that’ll take them up north.

The train journey lasts roughly an hour and forty minutes, depending, and it’s a journey that Louis has made loads of times over the years, either from when he was a teenager and he was travelling the opposite way, going up to visit big scary London with his mates, or more recently, travelling from London to see everyone back home during the holidays.

They manage to find an empty seat and pile in, sitting on opposite sides from each other beside the window. Louis takes out his earphones, plugging them into his phone, fully planning on listening to Coldplay’s new album and sleeping for the majority of the hour and a bit journey. He smiles as he sees Harry doing the same thing, phone in his hand, probably texting one of the millions of people he never seems to be able to be out of contact with. Louis leans his head against the window, watching the people on the platform disappear as the train rounds the corner and out of the station. He sighs, his breath fogging up against the cold of the glass on the window, and closes his eyes, settling down to nap. When he wakes up, he’ll be back in Doncaster, back in the tiny station that was his way of getting _away_ from there in the first place.

‘ _Thank fuck it’s only for a week_ ’, is really the only thing Louis can think of before he’s drifting off, the sound of Coldplay’s ‘ _Magic’_ in his ears. Getting back to London can’t come quick enough, really, and they’ve only just left.

 *

When Louis wakes up, it’s to his right arm feeling very numb from where he was sleeping on it and to Harry shaking his knee rather violently from across the table.

Louis blinks confusedly up at Harry, who’s already standing and reaching their bags down from the overhead racks.

“Finally!” Harry says, sounding exasperated, glancing down at where Louis is still sitting tucked in behind the table. “Been trying to wake you for about five minutes--you’re a really heavy sleeper, did you know that?”

He sets Louis’ bag on the table in front of him and hooks his own soft leather one over his shoulder, fixing the position of his ridiculous farmer hat on his head. “Anyways, we’re here, and if you don’t hurry your arse up we’re gonna end up being taken back to London with the train.”

Louis gives himself a shake, actually registering Harry’s words, and then takes a glance out of the window. Yup. Definitely Doncaster. Same tiny, industrial station waiting for them to get off the train, probably the same grumpy old men working there since Louis was a teenager. Louis sighs, resigning himself to the fact that this week _is_ going to happen no matter how long he actually takes to get off the train, grabs his bag, and follows Harry.

As soon as they’re on the platform, Louis can see something almost like a _ripple_ pass through the people on the same side of the station as them, and he immediately knows why. It’s Harry. Louis snorts, glancing at all the grannies lining the walls of the station who are openly staring at Harry-- his unbuttoned shirt, his tattoos, his _hat._

Louis is very, very certain half of the people in the station have never come across someone like Harry before in their life, and if that thought doesn’t perk him up just a little bit as they wander through the station, Harry seemingly oblivious and commenting on silly things like the magazine covers in the window of the newsagents shop, then Louis doesn’t know what will.

Really, Doncaster (or his mum, for that matter) doesn’t know what’s going to hit it. Maybe, just _maybe,_ this week won’t be that bad after all.

 *

When their taxi pulls up outside of the modest semi-detached house that the majority of his childhood was spent in, Louis takes it all in.

It’s a little different to when he was here last at Christmas--his mum has put huge pots of flowers all round the outside, already starting to bloom in the mild spring weather, and there’s one of those colourful plastic windmills blowing steadily in the light breeze stuck in the centre of the garden, no doubt put there by one of the twins. But really, apart from that, everything is more or less the same. The same curtains in the windows, same Fiat Punto that his mum has had for ages parked in the driveway, same swingset propped up in the back garden, poking over the same green fence that’s been there from when they first moved in. It’s all very familiar. It’s all very much what Louis wanted to get away from- the monotony, the _safeness_ of it all-- so, _so_ different to London.

He always feels this way when he comes home, and he knows it. Remembers the feeling every time his taxi has pulled up for the past four or so years, but this time, it’s different. It feels very different- not as suffocating. This time, he has Harry with him, and that in itself makes everything different.

Louis comes back to himself as the taxi driver makes an impatient sort of noise, and hands over some cash with a distant, “Thanks, mate- keep the change,” before climbing out of the back seat of the cab and joining Harry round at the boot where he’s grabbing their bags.

Harry hands Louis his sports bag and shoulders his own leathery one as the cab pulls off down the cul-de-sac. They stand for a minute, Louis’s hand wrapped tightly around the strap cutting into his shoulder. He feels like everyone in the street can hear how loudly his heart is beating.

There’s a thick silence between them, heavy until Harry breaks it. He reaches out and unwinds Louis’ hand from his bag, holding it tightly in his own.

“It’ll be _fine_ ,” he says, giving Louis’ hand a squeeze. “Calm down. Breathe. How’re we meant to pull this off if you’re gonna fuck it up as soon as we get through the door, hmm?” Harry reaches out to pull Louis’ chin up from where it’s tucked into his neck, forcing Louis to look into his eyes. “I promise I will be the best boyfriend ever. The best. But I need you to promise me that too, yeah? We’re gonna be a team this week.”He lets go of Louis’ chin and shoots him a warm smile, checking his hip with his own. “Go on then. Promise me. Then we’ll go inside and give our Oscar-worthy performance and your mum will fall so in love with me she’ll try to steal me and get us to run off into the sunset together.”

Louis can’t help but laugh at that, can’t help but be charmed by Harry and just how willing he is to cheer him up. How willing he is to do anything to help. He looks up at Harry again, smile evident on his face.

“Okay,” Louis takes a deep, calming breath and exhales. “Okay. I promise. I’m gonna be the best boyfriend you’ve ever seen--you’re not even going to know what hit you, Styles.”

Harry laughs then, eyes crinkling, very obviously relieved Louis’ come out of whatever little slump he’d got himself into. “Oh, I’m ever so glad. Can’t wait to be showered in presents then, so far you’ve been less than impressive. I’ll be expecting one of those champagne baths when we get in--your mum can wait.”

Louis reaches out and flicks Harry on his shoulder, “Oi! Shut it. If you’re lucky you’ll get a cup of tea and be happy. Drink it in the bath if you want, I don’t care.” He pulls at the buttons on Harry’s shirt, still flapping open happily. “Now, get yourself buttoned up and respectable looking--you’re meeting my mum, not the owner of the local brothel, Harold. And we’ve got to hurry up, been standing in the middle of the road like a right couple of loons. M’surprised my mum hasn’t noticed us and been out to find out what we’re at.”

Louis positions his bag so it’s sitting comfortably, squares his shoulders and sets off towards the house, Harry coming behind and buttoning his shirt as he goes.

*

Before Louis even manages to knock on the door, it’s flung wide open, that familiar smell of home hitting him square in the face- a mix of his mum’s cooking and whatever Yankee candle she has burning somewhere in the house.

Louis grunts as a small pair of arms are thrown around his middle, and then laughs as another pair comes to join them. Two blonde heads are buried into his middle, giggling profusely, each gripping as tight as the other.

“Alright Pheebs? Dais?”, Louis asks faux-nonchalantly, before quickly reaching down to poke each of the twins in the side, making them release him to try and wriggle away, indignant “Hey!”’s flying everywhere.

“Where’s mum, then? And Lottie and Fizz?” Louis asks eventually, after another round of hugs and kisses.

As he speaks, his mum comes wandering into the hall, drying her hands on the apron she has tied around her waist. The exact same pink, flowery apron she always wears. Louis thinks he won it for her at some kind of school fair years ago. She has one of those fond mum-smiles on her face as Louis gets up from where he was kneeling on the carpet.

He gives each of the twins a rub on the back, before turning to face his mum properly. As much as he really hates coming home, he actually really kind of loves it too. “Hi, mum,” he says, smile spreading.

“Hi Lou”, his mum says, advancing forward, twinkle in her eye. “Missed you.” She finally reaches him and gives him a tight hug, adding one of her signature eyeball-busting squeezes in there. It’s one of those hugs that makes Louis glad he comes back home every time, no matter how many times he thinks he won’t.

His mum pulls away, and if possible, the smile on her face gets even wider as she says, “And you must be Harry!”

And, well. Shit. _Harry._ In all of the commotion and beautiful family reunion stuff, Louis had kind of forgotten that he’d left Harry stood on the doorstep behind him, resigned to holding both of their bags, just watching.

He kind of wants to burst out laughing, because really, he’s already kind of fucked it up and they were literally just in the door, but instead of laughing, he just sits there, in shock, as Harry seems to come to life.

He’d dropped both of the bags he was holding and is already inside the door, hand outstretched and pulling Louis’s mum in for a kiss on the cheek. “Yes, I’m Harry-- it’s so, so lovely to finally meet you Mrs. Tomlinson. Louis’ told me loads about you and the kids. Congratulations on the two newest additions, by the way. You’ve got your hands full.”

Harry’s got this huge smile on his face, eyes bright and crinkled at the edges, with his hands clasped in front of him primly, the absolute epitome of charming boyfriend. Blimey, even _Louis_ would be fooled if he wasn’t the perpetrator of the grand plan they’re about to pull off. Maybe Harry _wasn’t_ just bullshitting-- maybe he really was going to be the very definition of the perfect boyfriend like he’d promised.

Louis’ mum clearly seems to be charmed too, because when Harry pulls back she’s smiling very wide indeed, head set at that curiously fond angle she seems to favour when one of the girls is telling her about what they did at school that day. “Well, thank you very much, Harry. It’s lovely to meet you too, finally.” She gives Louis a very pointed look at that, before turning back to Harry. “And none of that ‘Mrs’ stuff, please call me Jay. I’m not that old _just_ yet.Ernie and Doris are upstairs sleeping at the mo’ actually, but you’ll meet them later, along with the other little monsters I’m sure. You’ve just seen Daisy and Phoebe, wherever they’ve wandered off to, and Fizzy and Lottie are upstairs somewhere, much too mature to show their faces yet, I suppose. You know how they get.” She laughs at that, and Harry joins in very convincingly.

Evidently, Louis needs to up his game if he wants to keep up the whole ‘boyfriends’ charade on the same level as Harry.

As Harry falls back beside Louis, obviously satisfied he’d won Louis’ mum over inside less than ten seconds, Louis reaches out a hand and wraps it around Harry’s waist, tucking his fingers into the front pocket of his jeans with what he hopes is a relaxed smile on his face. Louis can feel, rather than hear, Harry make a pleased little noise. Obviously, he did the right thing.

His mum seems to notice his movements, and she tries (and fails) to disguise her face going all soft as she turns back towards the kitchen and says, “Anyways, I’ve made spag bol as an early lunch--your fav, Lou--so you boys can head on upstairs to Louis’ room and get freshened up and whatnot. That train journey wouldn’t have been very pleasant, I imagine. You’re probably starved. Food’ll be ready in about fifteen, twenty minutes.”

“Thanks, mum,” Louis says, unhooking himself from Harry and throwing both of their bags over his shoulder, “Sounds brill. Down in a minute.” He heads off towards the stairs, Harry following him after throwing one last beatific smile towards Jay.

Louis jumps the stairs two at a time like he always used to, and takes a right as he reaches the top. They pass Lottie and Fizzy’s room, the door firmly closed and plastered with posters and pictures of whatever boyband is big at the minute, music blasting from the inside.

Next is Daisy and Phoebe’s room, all very pink and sparkly, a bold ‘ _NO BOY’S ALOWED_ ’ penciled on coloured paper and stuck along the top of the door.  Louis hears Harry’s muffled snort as they pass, and turns around to shoot him a grin, “What’s so funny? They’re absolutely right. Boys are awful creatures.”

Harry raises his hands in mock-surrender, laughter in his voice. “I’m not arguing with that. S’just...I dunno, kind of funny to see their rooms all done up like that. Only girl I lived with was always older than me, so I never really got to see all this stuff. It’s cute.”

“Oh,” is all Louis can really think to say. He’d never really appreciated the aesthetics of his sisters’ door before. Maybe he should start. “It is cute, in’t it?”

They’ve reached Louis’ room, the final door down the right of the hall. Louis is actually surprised that his room hasn’t been turned into some kind of fancy nursery for the twins yet, but he supposes they’re still probably sleeping in his mum and Dan’s room because of how young they are.

He wonders if maybe his mum just wasn’t really ready to change his room, yet. Like it was the final frontier of ‘Yeah. He’s gone’, or that she maybe thought he’d eventually come back. Either way, he doesn’t particularly want to think about it.

Louis opens the door and walks in, Harry following behind. As predicted, the room is still the same as it was the last time he was here, meaning it’s essentially the same as it was since Louis was twelve years old and they’d last got it decorated. There’s still the same old peeling Green Day posters plastered on his wall, the same bookshelf in the corner beside the window covered in peeling Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle stickers, even the same faded Manchester United bed sheets. His mum has obviously been in and done a bit of dusting and hoovering ready for them coming, the smell of furniture polish still heavy in the air, the absence of any dust bunnies on the floor. Louis takes another step into the room, drinking it all in like he does every time he comes home.

It’s _weird._ Like another part of himself. This room is so...busy. Filled with all sorts of useless crap and knick-knacks. Back in London, his room is all cream everything. Minimal furniture, easy to keep clean. No hassle.

Louis watches as Harry takes a somewhat hesitant step in after him, eyes lighting up curiously as he glances around the room. Louis heads for the bed, throwing down the two bags and immediately taking off his shoes. He sits on the edge, watching Harry.

“See you’re a United man, then,” Harry says from where he’s stood by the bookcase, nodding towards the bed where Louis is sitting. “Just as well, ‘cause if you weren’t I’m afraid that would’ve been grounds for an automatic breakup. So.”

Louis laughs, one hand rubbing at his neck where it’s still sore from sleeping on the train, “Always have been, always will be. Rovers too, ‘course-- actually got one of my first jobs at the Keepmoat, s’only about fifteen or so minutes away. Worked at one of the burger stands-  bit shit, but the money was okay.”

Harry nods as he reaches out to pick up something from one of the shelves of the bookcase. He moves back and Louis catches a glimpse of what it is-- one of those generic “ _Well Done! You tried!_ ’ participation medals from a local football camp he did one summer when he was about seven.

When he was much younger, that medal was his pride and joy. When he got a bit older and realised it wasn’t actually _for_ anything, he’d wanted to put it in the bin.

He actually did, one day. He remembers-- they were only playing football out in the street, and his team had lost spectacularly. He was never a great loser, and had immediately stormed into the house in a huff, found his medal and chucked it into the wastepaper basket under his desk, not even sparing a second thought for it.

Then, one day when he was cleaning his room after being ordered to by his mum, he discovered it sitting in the exact same place it was in before, like nothing had happened. It was obviously his mum who had fished it out of the bin and put it back, knowing Louis better than anyone, but still, Louis never had the heart to get rid of it after all that, even when he did an almighty clear out before moving to London. He loved that little medal-- it was almost like a good luck charm. He hid it in his blazer pocket when he’d taken his GCSE’s and A-Levels.

Harry, obviously unaware that Louis was off in a world of his own, had already set the medal down and had moved on to looking through the books in the bookcase, running his fingers along the spines, “Oh, that’s a good first job. You’d meet interesting people that way, I suppose.”

And oh, yeah. Louis had been talking about working at the stadium. He tunes back in properly, now, watching Harry make his way down the bookcase. He’s taken out one of those Penguin Classic books that’s been there for years, and is peering at the inside cover, a shaky ‘LOUIS’ written in blue pen.

“My first job was at a bakery in Holmes Chapel,” Harry continues blithely, flicking through the yellowing pages of _Gulliver’s Travels_. “It was great-- if anything broke or crumbled, we got to eat it. Think I only just got rid of the weight I put on working in there last year, to be honest.” He puts the book back, stands up and takes another glance around the room, reaching out to smooth one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle stickers down. "I was a master of the accidental pastry drop, even though I think all the old ladies who worked in there knew what I was up to. Barbara loved me, always told me I was her favourite and gave me cherry tarts to take home with me.”

He makes his way over to Louis, flopping down on the bed beside him and taking off his hat. He’s got a serious case of hat-hair, all of it flattened at the top of his head, his curls forming full ringlets all focussed around his ears. Louis wants to reach out and fluff it all up, get it all back to normal.

Instead, he says, “I can just imagine what you’d be like in a bakery filled with old ladies. I’m sure Barbara’s got some tales to tell.”

“Oi!” Harry lifts the football-shaped throw pillow lying on the bed and chucks it at Louis’ belly, “I won’t have you slandering Barbara’s good name. She’s a saint, that woman. Her and her cherry tarts.”

Louis laughs and lies back on the bed so only his torso is stretched out, his feet dangling off the end and his knees folded at the edge. He gives a sigh as Harry pulls off his boots.

“Is it weird being back? Here, I mean,” comes Harry’s voice, quiet like a secret. He sits beside Louis, legs folded up under him, fingers playing with the frayed hem of his jeans.

Louis exhales. “A bit. I don’t really like coming back, but it’s more like, the thought of it?” He glances up at Harry through his eyelashes, “I dunno. Once I’m here it’s okay. I like seeing everyone and stuff, but like, I can’t wait to go home either. London home, I mean. Doncaster’s just...shitty. And stuffy. I don’t like being here for very long.”

“I get it,” Harry says, eyes wide. “It’s the same for me with Holmes Chapel, and it’s literally not even half the size of Doncaster. “Least you had a bit of variety,” Harry pokes Louis’ side playfully with his toe, voice joking. “Uni was like a godsend for me. I never knew that many people could be in the one place, to be honest. In my first lecture I think there were more people there than were actually in Holmes Chapel. It was mindblowing.”

“Mmm, I remember that feeling too. Crazy,” Louis says softly, running his hands across the little hills that have formed in the sheets, just as his mum’s shout of ‘ _Lunch! Ready! Now!_ ’ comes up the stairs.

Louis stretches one final time before pushing himself up off the bed. He sorts himself out, pulling his jeans up and fixing his t-shirt and then turns around, expecting Harry to be right behind him, ready to head downstairs. Instead, Harry’s sitting in the exact same position he was before, legs crossed, eyes looking mischievously up at Louis. Louis can hear the thundering steps of his sisters rushing down the stairs from behind the door.

“What’re you at?” Louis asks, hand held out in a question. “C’mon lazy, mum doesn’t take very kindly to having to shout more than once. Didn’t you hear the herd of elephants that just flew down the stairs?”

“Give us a pull up, then,” Harry replies, grin wide and his hand outstretched towards where Louis is standing. “M’gonna start treating you like my own personal slave. It can be a form of payment for my services.”

“Oh, is that right?” Louis says with a laugh, advancing forwards and hauling Harry up from the bed and onto his feet.

“Yup. That’s exactly right,” Harry says, now stood right in front of Louis. They’re very close-- closer than Louis ever remembers being before, even when they were at work, or out on a night out. He can almost see each individual eyelash of Harry’s-- could reach up and press his finger right into the dimple in his cheek. He’s just as pretty up close as he is from far away. Not really fair at all, Louis thinks. A nice body _and_ a nice face to boot.

“Personal slave, eh? Well, I suppose that’s only fair, then,” Louis breathes. He realises, probably much too late to avoid making it not weird and stilted, that they still haven’t moved.

They’re still right in each other spaces. Louis makes to take a step backward, an apology already sitting on his tongue, when he feels Harry’s hand on his wrist, stopping him from moving.

“Wait,” Harry says, intense stare boring straight into Louis. Louis doesn’t think he’s even breathed, never mind blinked the whole time they’ve been stood there.“I have an idea. Just- let me- if you just--”

Louis is confused to say the least-- Harry doesn’t really make sense at the best of times, but now his thoughts seem even more erratic than usual, an intense look of concentration on his face, almost like he’s making a very difficult decision.

Louis makes to step back once more but is stopped again by Harry’s hand coming round to rest on his hip, pulling him in. Louis moves easily, almost in a trance, fascinated by whatever Harry seems to be attempting, stepping into the space between Harry’s legs, glancing up at him from beneath his fringe.

Suddenly, Harry’s kissing him-- proper going at it, teenage-snogging. His hands are rifling through Louis’ hair like no tomorrow, and he’s biting at Louis’ bottom lip like he’s not eaten for a week.

Louis is--well. He’s shocked to say the least. He’s so shocked, in fact, he doesn’t react in the slightest. His body stays limp out of some kind of weird instinct as Harry licks all over him and messes up his hair. He barely has time to even register what has happened, _doesn’t_ have time to actually think about what’s going on and respond accordingly, until Harry’s stepping back, huge, Cheshire cat grin on his face.

Louis is still in shock, evidently, because it takes him a good fifteen seconds to actually give his head a shake and come back to life, Harry laughing behind his hand all the while.

“What the _fuck,”_ is the first thing that comes to mind, “was _that_? Jesus! Give me a bit of a warning next time, at least!”

Louis is well aware of how his voice is really more or less bordering on hysterical, the shock still not worn off completely. He’s surprised his mum hasn’t called up asking what that squeaky noise was, honestly.

Harry laughs then, a proper belly-laugh, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, “Oh my god, your _face,_ Lou! That would’ve been worth the slap I thought I was gonna get just to see that face.”

Harry’s face suddenly completely changes, obviously seeing that Louis isn’t as amused as he is by what’s just happened, and he stops his laughing and reaches out to hold onto Louis’ forearms in that way he’s fond of doing.

“Shit-- you’re not annoyed, are you?” he asks, sounding much more worried than he did a second ago. “I just thought if we--like, if we went downstairs and looked like we’d been snogging up here the whole time your mum would’ve--fuck, I’m sorry, Lou--”

“Oh,” is all Louis can say, really. He brings a hand up and rubs around his mouth. He’s sure it’s just as red and bitten looking as Harry’s is, and his hair must be just as messed and ruffled as Harry’s too, if not worse. //He supposes what Harry had been doing was a good idea--in theory. The execution left a lot to be desired though, clearly.

“No, no-- I’m not angry, shut up,” Louis says with a shaky laugh. He supposes he _can_ see the funny side of it now the shock has worn off. Maybe he should really be thanking Harry for putting so much effort in- they hadn’t even really discussed the likelihood that they’d probably have to kiss, or something along those lines, eventually. “M’just shocked-- scared the shit out of me, Haz. Bit of warning before you start slobbering all over me next time, yeah?”

Harry seems to breathe a sigh of relief, grin coming back onto his face as he lets go of Louis’ arms. “Oh thank fuck, I thought you _were_ actually gonna slap me. Okay-- warning next time, I promise.”

Louis smiles at him, letting him know there’s nothing to worry about-- it really was just that he was shocked. He kind of wishes Harry had of just _told_ him he was planning on kissing him-- maybe they could’ve went about it the proper way instead of Louis just standing there like a muppet-- they could have made it look really convincing. It’s not like Louis would’ve said ‘No, thanks but no thanks, mate’, really.

They head downstairs after that, because they’d already kept everyone else behind on their lunch by a good five minutes, if not more, and seriously, if Louis’ mum didn’t _already_ think they were upstairs snogging, she certainly would when she saw what both of them looked like when they appeared downstairs.

Which, really, now Louis thinks about it, is probably a good thing. That Harry Styles is quite clever, in a way.

*

After lunch-- which went _very_ well indeed, all the new introductions going very smoothly- Lottie suitably impressed by Louis’ choice in suitors as predicted, her eyebrows flying up into her fringe as soon as Harry walked in the room behind him. Fizzy, being her usual self, is very nonplussed by the whole procedure and flings a cursory smile and a wave at Harry before going back to whatever she’s always at that means her phone has to be glued to her face 24/7.

Harry coos just the right amount over the sleeping twins in their moses basket in the corner of the room, pleasing Louis’ mum no end when he even points out that Ernie looks a bit like Louis, something she’s forever saying but no-one else in the house can see.

Even Louis is impressed at how good Harry is at the whole charm-offensive, and he’s known him for just long enough to have expected it even a little bit. Maybe he’s been through the whole ‘meeting-the-parents’ escapade before-- Louis must remember to ask him at some point.

Once they’ve finished eating and all of the girls have dispersed throughout the house, it’s just Harry and Louis left with Jay, Harry washing the dishes at his own insistence and Louis drying them and putting them away.

Jay is sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room, cup of tea in one hand with the other softly rocking the now-awake and sleepily quiet twins in their basket, a satisfied kind of smile on her face as she watches them.

Louis pops off to the toilet for five minutes, and when he comes back, Harry and Jay are fully engaged in conversation as Harry washes the last of the few remaining dishes.

“What’s this then?” Louis asks cheerfully, giving Harry a smack on the bum with his tea towel before accepting a soapy plate from him to dry.

“Harry’s just telling me all about his degree,” Jay answers, taking a sip of tea. “He’s studying to be a pediatric nurse-- you didn’t tell me he was still at uni, Lou-- studying nursing of all things!” There’s a hint of a question in her voice, a kind of ‘ _why wouldn’t you tell me about something that’s so important in your boyfriend’s life_ , _especially when it’s something we have in common_.’

Louis more or less freezes in his drying of the plate, can’t help but blink a few times like a deer caught in the headlights. They’re fucked-- he’s gone and ballsed it up because he didn’t think of telling his mum one simple thing.

“Oh--erm, well-” he begins, eyes darting from Harry to Jay.

“Well, I’m in my final year now and most of the time I’m out on placement, so it’s not _really_ like I’m still at uni- it’s more like a job, if anything. Lou probably doesn’t consider it much like I’m doing a degree-- half the time I don’t,” Harry cuts in smoothly, laughter in his voice that sounds like ‘ _Oh isn’t my boyfriend a silly moo!_ ’ rather than “ _Louis, you’re a bloody twat_ ’ which Louis is pretty sure Harry’s really thinking right now.

“Yeah-- that’s exactly what it is,” Louis laughs shakily, nodding along with Harry and trying to steady his voice, “Must have slipped my mind-- placement’s more important in a way, I suppose.”

He turns back to the sink and steadily continues drying the leftover dishes, away from his mum and Harry who are continuing to chat away about the benefits of being a nurse, and just how rewarding it is and _blah blah blah_.

Louis isn’t really listening-- his heart’s still not beating quite right, and if such a little thing can scare the shit out of him, what’s he going to be like when his mum actually starts asking proper questions? Honestly, he doesn’t really want to know, even though it’s more or less inevitable.

 *

 After their lucky escape, Jay sends them upstairs to unpack their stuff and maybe have a bit of a nap before Dan gets home from work-- there are plans of a Chinese and a movie, a bit of a first-night tradition for when Louis comes home.

Usually, they all gather round the big TV in the living room, lights off and blankets on each of the sofas to snuggle with, but Louis has a feeling it’ll maybe be a little different this time, what with the twins and Harry being the newest additions.

Plus, it’s likely that neither Lottie nor Fizzy will be particularly interested in sitting and watching a film with the family anymore now that they’re all grown up with things to do that are evidently much better than watching _The Incredibles_ with your family on a Monday night.

However, Louis is pleasantly surprised to find them both sitting in their preferred seats in the living room when he comes in from the kitchen with his and Harry’s plates of food in his hands. Granted, they’re both engrossed in their phones and not really contributing much to the conversation, but Louis is secretly quite pleased they’ve stayed anyways. Maybe they’re not _quite_ as grown-up as they’d like to think they are.

Dan had arrived home from work at around 6PM, and of course Harry had been introduced straight away.

Louis had thought that perhaps Dan would have been a little bit harder for Harry to work his magic over, but Harry had clearly proved him wrong-- both of them had started a very in depth conversation about golf-- something Louis had _no_ idea Harry was even interested in-- after Harry spotted a PGA Tour calendar on the wall in the kitchen. Again, Louis was very impressed. Harry could probably start giving lessons on how to meet the parents and be the perfect boyfriend, to be honest.

Of course, Dan had immediately approved of Harry as soon as he mentioned the subject-- something Louis had never been interested in, always being more of a football man-- and they were still chatting away about it now, Dan propped up in his favourite armchair in the corner and tucking into his Chinese, Harry laid out over the two-seater, legs spread and arm draped along the back, waiting for Louis to come in with his food.

“Someday,” Dan is saying around a mouthful of noodles as Louis walks into the room, “ _someday_ , maybe when the kids are older--I’ll get to Augusta to watch the Masters. That’s the dream. In’t that right, Lou?”

“Yup,” Louis agrees, handing Harry his plate with a roll of his eyes towards Dan. “Whatever you say, mate. S’long as the year after you take me to Old Trafford, we’re good.”

Harry accepts his plate with a laugh as Louis takes the seat next to him, Lottie starting up the DVD player now everyone’s seated and ready to go.

Louis finishes his Chinese about a third of the way or so into the film, and leans back into the sofa with a groan. His eyes were definitely bigger than his belly-- he feels like he’s about to pop. He feels Harry set his almost empty plate on the floor from behind him (obviously being more sensible than Louis and knowing where his limit is), before Harry lets out a similar kind of contented, full-up groan, leaning back into the sofa.

Louis takes a glance around the darkened room, blinds pulled and with the TV flickering in the corner. His mum left the room a while ago to go and sort both sets of twins out for bed, it getting close to their bedtimes, and Dan is snoring in his armchair, obviously tired from working all day.

Lottie catches Louis’ eye from across the room and sends him a small smile over the top of her laptop, face illuminated by the screen. Fizzy is similarly lit-up from the glow of her phone, absorbed in Twitter or something similar, so really it’s only Harry and Louis who are paying the film any attention at all.

As Harry chuckles softly at something happening on the screen, Louis thinks ‘ _fuck it_ ’ and leans back against Harry, fitting his body in between Harry’s splayed legs, his back to his warm chest, his head resting on the space between Harry’s shoulder and his neck.

He can feel Harry sigh happily underneath him, settling further down into the sofa and getting more comfortable. He drops his arm from along the back of the chair so it’s lying down in the warm crease between both of their bodies and the cushion, his fingers resting on Louis’ hip.

It’s very intimate-- a weird feeling for Louis with his sisters sitting just a few metres away-- a weird feeling in general, really. He can’t remember the last time he cuddled and watched a film with someone that wasn’t Zayn, and even that’s been pretty thin on the ground as of late. It’s just _nice,_ Louis thinks.

A few minutes on in the film, with Harry’s slow, steady breathing lulling him, Louis has forgotten all about everyone else in the room, his eyes drifting sleepily and his head rolling back onto Harry’s chest, the craziness of the day finally catching up on him.

The next thing Louis knows is Harry giving him a gentle shake, the main light in the living room having been blindingly switched back on.

Louis somehow manages to blearily follow Harry’s far-off instructions, more or less crawling up the stairs and changing into a t-shirt, brushing his teeth quickly and then collapsing into bed, burrowing under the covers. Before he passes out, Louis senses Harry hovering round the edge of the bed, as if unsure whether or not to get in.

Louis gives a sleepy yawn and pulls Harry onto the bed by the front of his t-shirt, slurring a “Get in, you arsehole, I don’t bite. Turn out that bloody light and don’t let all the cold air in under the covers.”

Louis turns over onto his side, breathing in the familiar smell of the washing powder his mum has used for years as Harry climbs in the other side of the bed, the added weight causing a dip in the mattress. Louis feels a warm gust of air fan across his back as Harry yawns and gives a “Night, Lou,” before flicking off the lamp and plunging the room into darkness.

 *

The next two days go by quicker than Louis has ever experienced when he’s been back home. Usually time drags by, the days filled with nothing else to really do except watch endless movies and boring daytime TV.

On Tuesday, Jay takes Harry, Louis, and all the kids to go and visit Louis’ great grandma who lives just outside of Doncaster, something they haven’t done for a while-- too long, really.

She is absolutely delighted to see them all, in particular the newest set of twins, cradling them gently in her arms and exclaiming over how big the others have gotten.

She takes to Harry like nothing normal, patting the seat beside her and asking him to sit down and tell her all about himself.

She holds his hand in her tiny, wrinkly one and pats it over and over, telling him how lovely his curls are-- how they remind her of her own hair when she was younger, Harry blushing happily all the while.

Harry is obviously endeared too, beaming from ear to ear as he listens to Louis’ grandma tell all her stories that Louis has heard hundreds of times before--the kind of stories that never seem to get old no matter how many times you hear them.

Louis is stood in the doorway of the living room watching the twins play with some LEGOs on the floor when his grandma beckons him over and pats the seat beside her, now Harry-free as he’d gone out to help Jay sort out the tea in the kitchen.

Louis takes the seat Harry vacated and lifts his grandma’s hand into his own with a smile. She’s got that real grandma-smell, all flowery and powdery. She’s smelt the same for years-- it reminds Louis of all of his birthday parties when he was younger when she would always be sat beside him as he blew out his candles.

“Y’alright, love?” he asks, patting her hand. “Cuppa’s coming now.”

“I’m absolutely wonderful, darling,” she says contentedly, glancing round at the twins.

She turns back, giving Louis a smile and leans in close to his ear. “Now, listen right close, young man--you’d better keep a tight grip on that lovely boy you brought here today, alright? He’s one of a kind. Don’t want to lose that one. Not in a million years.”

She lets go of his hand with a pat and a wink just as Jay and Harry come back into the room with a tray of tea and scones, laughing about something they were talking about in the kitchen.

Louis watches from beside his grandma as Harry cuts up some of the scone for Daisy and Phoebe, warns them that their cups of tea are hot and to be careful not to burn themselves as they drink, before turning and giving Louis one of his huge, genuine smiles-- a Harry Styles special-- along with his cup of tea.

_Oh, heck_ , is all Louis can think, really.

Maybe his grandma’s right. She usually is.

*

The day after they visit Louis’ grandma-- the Wednesday, Louis comes downstairs in the morning  to find Harry and Jay sitting at the breakfast bar chatting once again over a cuppa, Harry still in his t-shirt and trackies and Jay in her dressing gown.

“Oh! There he is, speak of the devil,” Jay says over the edge of her cup. “Was just about to send the girls up to jump on your bed. Kettle’s on the hob if you want a cup.” She gestures with the bottom of her own mug towards the steaming pot sitting on top of the cooker.

“Harry’s just been telling me he used to work in a bakery back in Holmes Chapel, Lou,” Jay continues as Louis pours himself out a cup of tea.

“Yeah, I know,” Louis says with a nod, because--well, he actually _does_ know that, thank you very much.  

He makes his way over to the breakfast bar, coming in behind Harry and stopping to give him a peck on the cheek and a _‘morning love_ ’ because Harry had done the same thing to him yesterday and Jay had seemed very impressed, giving them an ‘ _awww, aren’t you two cute’._ Let it never be said Louis Tomlinson isn’t a quick learner.

“Well,” Jay soldiers on with a wave of her free hand, seemingly not at all as impressed when Louis does it, “Harry was saying he’d bake with the girls today! He’s going to teach them how to make little Easter Cakes!” Jay’s voice is all high, happy like it is when she finds out she’s won a bidding-war on eBay. “Isn’t that nice of him?”

“You could help, Lou,” Harry says, reaching a hand under the breakfast bar and grabbing Louis’ knee, his voice morning rough and tea-warmed. “If you want. Might be fun. It’ll keep the girls entertained too, out of your mum’s hair for a while.”

So, that’s how Louis finds himself on Wednesday afternoon after an impromptu trip to Tesco to grab the necessary supplies-- covered in chocolate and trying in vain to stop Daisy and Phoebe from eating all the Mini Eggs that are supposed to go on top of the buns Harry’s putting in the oven.Eventually, they manage to get the buns decorated and put in the fridge to set, correct number of Mini Eggs and all intact.

Not long after they’ve cleaned the worst of the mess up and Phoebe and Daisy have cleared off somewhere else, no doubt to make more mess, Jay comes in from the living room, one baby held securely in the crook of each arm.  

She heads towards the moses basket in the corner and gently places the twins in, just as Louis’ putting the last of the plates away.

“Thanks so much for keeping the girls occupied today,” Jay says gratefully, turning back to face them, “Think I got about three weeks worth of ironing done in there, and these two munchkins slept the whole way through, happy as larry. Couldn’t ask for much better,” she smiles at them before giving a huge yawn. “M’knackered now though-- could use a sleep myself. Early nights all round tonight, I think.”

“No problem, Jay-- least we could do, you’re being kind enough to put up with us two invading your house,” Harry says with a smile, “Last thing you needed was two more in on top on everything.”

Louis nods in agreement before he becomes distracted and loses track of whatever it is Jay and Harry are talking about now, his eyes catching just a little bit of chocolate on the bottom of Harry’s lip, moving with his mouth as he talks.

Louis reaches out and runs his finger gently along Harry’s lip, catching the chocolate before sucking his finger into his mouth without thinking.

He more or less forgot Harry was right in the middle of talking to Jay and only realises when he feels both Jay and Harry’s eyes on him, both of them having stopped talking abruptly.

“Oh--shit, sorry, erm, that was rude,” Louis apologises, checking back into the conversation, “But--Harry- you had a little bit of chocolate right--” he points his finger to where the chocolate was, trailing off and turning to look at Harry and Jay again.

His mum has one eyebrow raised, head shaking in a ‘ _what kind of weirdo did I give birth to_ ’ kind of way, before she heads back out of the room, while Harry’s shaking with silent laughter, bursting out with “You ate the chocolate from my _lip_ , you minger!” as soon as Jay leaves the room, to which Louis can only retort with the ever-useful, ever-appropriate “Shut _up_!” accompanied with a shove to Harry’s shoulder.

After all of the excitement from the day (minus Louis’ chocolate incident- he still doesn’t understand why it’s such a big deal, _honestly-_ -) Jay’s prediction of an early night seems to ring true, because not long after all the dinner dishes have been finally been done, and all the kids have been put to bed (bar Lottie) and they’ve sat down to watch the news, Jay is snoring in the armchair in the corner, Dan resting his head on her arm, snoring just as loudly.

*

 The next day, after everyone has had a bit of a lie in and some breakfast, Louis’ heading upstairs to take a shower when he hears a quiet murmuring coming from inside his bedroom door at the end of the hall.

Louis knows it’s Harry-- his phone had started ringing halfway through breakfast and he’d excused himself with an “Oh! It’s my mum-- back in a minute, just gonna take this upstairs,” a happy sort of smile on his face as he dashed up to Louis’ room.

So, obviously, Louis knew who was in his room and why-- and of course, knew that the conversation was clearly supposed to be between just Harry and his mum, and that Harry must have wanted a bit of privacy, otherwise he would have had it at the table. But--call it general curiosity or just plain nosiness--Louis couldn’t really help but linger outside the door while choosing a towel from the airing cupboard at the end of the hall.

The door to his bedroom is ajar _just_ a bit, and from what Louis can make out from his awkward position, Harry is lying on the bed, legs crossed with his phone to his ear, his other hand twirling lazily at his hair. Louis watches as Harry laughs quietly at something his mum says, before his face falls just a little bit.

There’s obviously been a topic change, judging from Harry’s behaviour. Harry brings his hand up to his mouth and chews nervously at the skin on the side of his finger, brow furrowed.

“No--I know you don’t think--” Harry begins frustratedly, obviously interrupting his mum in the middle of whatever she’s saying, “I’m doing a favour for a friend-- that’s it. It’s not--”

Louis takes in a sharp breath, hands gripping the door of the cupboard tightly. He’s pretty sure they’re talking about him, now. Harry must have actually told his mum what he was going to be spending his Easter doing

“No, mum--it’s going _fine,_ I promise,” Harry sighs-- it sounds like this is something that’s been discussed before. “His family are lovely, and all we’ve been doing is-- _no!_ God, of course he’s not taking _advantage_ of me mum-- he didn’t even really want me to do this, if you must know--” Harry stops himself, before bringing a hand up and passing it over his face, smoothing his brow and heaving another heavy sigh, evidently fed up with the discussion. “Look, mum-- we’re obviously not gonna agree on this, yeah? So just enjoy the rest of your holiday and I’ll see you soon. I promise everything is okay here, yeah? I’m not stupid. I know what I’m doing. Love you-- tell Gems and Robin and everyone I say hi, okay? Okay, bye - bye. Love you too.”

_Oh. Shit._

Harry ends the call and throws the phone down on the bed beside him, letting out one big sigh and resting his head back on the pillow, eyes closed.

Louis realises - almost too late, that he’s still stood watching Harry from beside the airing cupboard through a crack in the door like a fucking weirdo, and that he’d better get a move on before Harry comes out of the room to head back downstairs and catches him  - Louis doesn’t much fancy having to bullshit an explanation to Harry for why he was standing there in the first place.

So he grabs a towel and heads down the hall towards the bathroom, turning on the shower, his head buzzing back and forth.

Louis stands under the boiling spray of the water for God knows how long, the phrase ‘ _taking advantage_ ’ echoing round and round in his brain like he’s in some kind of dramatic, indie film and he’s the emotionally conflicted protagonist. Except, this isn’t some dramatic indie film, and actually, all of this is making him feel a bit sick, stomach turning as the water streams over his face. Because, really - when it comes right down to it- that’s what he’s done. He’s taken advantage of Harry. He’s taken advantage of his kindness, his willingness, his sincerity.

Louis feels like he’s going to be sick, almost, his hands clenched tightly by his sides.

He’s been using Harry as some kind of… prop in this imaginary life that he’s presenting to his mum--like that’s a normal thing that most sane people do. Like that’s a common thing that happens-like there’s nothing absolutely and completely fucked up about it.

Louis understands how Harry’s mum feels, honestly. If Harry had told _him_ he was going to go and stay with some, essentially, random person’s family for a week and pretend to be that person’s completely loved-up, committed boyfriend, Louis would’ve probably told him to go and get his head checked, because _honestly_ \--

Louis shakes his head in an attempt to shut his brain up, soaking wet hair flicking droplets of water everywhere.

He knows what he has to do as he steps out of the shower and turns it off, steam billowing all around the tiny room.  He has to tell Harry he’s sorry for dragging him into all of this, first of all, and then get him on the first train back to London. Far, far away from Louis and his stupid, stupid brain. Then, he needs to suck it up and sit down with his mum and tell her everything, no matter how excruciating it is.

And _fuck_ , Louis thinks as he closes the door to his bedroom, who on earth knows how _that_ conversation will go.

Louis has a bit of a hysterical snort to himself as he finishes drying off and pulls on his jeans, imagining his mum’s face when he says _‘So! Harry was just pretending to be my boyfriend all along thanks to an elaborate plan I made up just to get you off my back. Thoughts?_ ’

God. He’s so, _so_ fucked.

*

As it turns out, Louis is not only really, really fucked-- he’s also a really, really big cop-out.

When he got downstairs after his shower, he half expected to march straight into the living room and just set his newly-born plan into motion, quick as that, with Harry hopefully heading home on the next available train and leaving Louis to deal with the absolute mess of a situation he was sure to be in with his mother.

Instead, Louis had gotten down to the living room only to be stopped his in tracks, Harry having been sitting in the comfy armchair in the corner with one of the twins in his arms, fast asleep.  Harry had made a ‘ _Shh_ ’-ing motion towards Louis, the softest smile on his face as he leant down to brush his lips against either Ernie or Doris’ head.

Louis had sighed from where he was standing in the door, moving further into the room as Harry beckoned him with a happy wave, accepting defeat. If he was going to do this, it wasn’t going to be then-- he wasn’t a _complete_ arsehole.

Unfortunately, the opportunity never really presented it at any other time throughout the rest of the afternoon either, with Harry always doing something with one of the girls, or talking to Louis’ mum, or just doing _something_ that meant Louis couldn’t bring it up, no matter how much he hovered around Harry throughout the day.

Now, it’s ten to six in the evening, and Louis is _finally_ catching a bit of a break.

As it turns out, Phoebe and Daisy have a birthday party to go to, so Dan and Jay plan on dropping them off at the party and then heading to visit Louis’ grandparents with the babies for a couple of hours before going back to collect the older two. Lottie has plans with a group of mates to go to the cinema and watch a film and Fizzy’s off to one of her friend’s houses for a sleepover.

So, finally, Harry and Louis are alone in the house for the first time all week and really, Louis couldn’t have asked for a better time to get everything out of the way and give Harry an opportunity to get ready to leave.

Except...Louis actually finds it a lot more difficult to get up the nerve to say anything to Harry, his voice getting caught in his throat, his breathing erratic. Louisis well aware that he’s behaving strangely-- knows Harry is beginning to notice too, small frowns appearing on his face every time Louis does something a little weird or out of the ordinary.

They’ve just finished the takeaway they ordered in, Louis only managing to eat about a quarter of his plate, his stomach racked with nerves, when Harry suggests they watch a film. Louis agrees, and goes to sort out the DVD player once they’ve chosen a film. On his way back to the sofa, Louis notices Harry splayed out across the chair like he has been the past few nights that they’ve been sitting in the living room watching TV, his legs spread and arm resting along the top of the seat.

Louis swallows, throat feeling unusually thick, and sits down in his usual seat, one leg folded up under him, his body taut.

They get about twenty five minutes into _The Avengers_ when Louis feels Harry’s weight shifting on the other side of the sofa, his legs spread out even wider before he leans back completely into the corner of the chair, pulling gently at the back of Louis’ t-shirt as if to tell him to lie down too, his back plastered to Harry’s chest the same way they’ve been doing all week long.

Louis was expecting it, body tensed as soon as he felt Harry start to shift around. If it was yesterday, or the day before, or any other day, really, Louis would have went easily, no qualms at all.

As he feels Harry pulling at the back his t-shirt, Louis springs off the sofa-- not his best choice, by any means. He can sense Harry’s bewilderment before he even turns around to face him again, can see the exact face Harry’s making perfectly in his head.

Louis bends down and picks up his empty glass that was on the floor as soon as he’s standing, turning to face Harry and brandishing it in front of him.

“Just getting a drink! Mines is empty!” Louis says, maniacal smile on his face. He knows his voice is brushing on the hysterical side when he says, “Need anything? Drink? Something to eat? No?” if Harry’s face is anything to go by, his eyes and nose scrunched in what Louis’ presumes is confusion, brow furrowed.

“Um...no, thanks...I’m, er, I’m good,” Harry says, still eyeing Louis warily. “Glass is still half full. Want me to..d’you want me to pause the film while you’re gone?”

“No no no, you keep watching, seen it a million times now anyways,” Louis calls with another hysterical laugh from the kitchen, pouring himself another drink of Coke and managing to slosh it all over the counter as he does. He curses to himself as he grabs some kitchen roll and cleans it up quickly-- his hands are all jittery, and his chest feels  tight. He needs to get himself together-- as if Harry doesn’t think he’s enough of a weirdo already. Louis really doesn’t need to go make it any worse for himself considering what he’sgoing to do. He whips out his phone and shoots a quick text off to Zayn before he heads back into the living room. Zayn’s always been the one Louis turns to no matter what, and Louis’ kind of been ignoring him all week with everything going on.

_Gonna tell Harry he has to go home. I’m a using bastard :/_

He heads back into the living and perches himself on the edge of the sofa, well out of Harry’s reach. He doesn’t know if he can pull off another stunt like the last one and get away with it quite as easily.

Harry shoots him a look as he watches Louis sit down, before huffing a defeated kind of sigh and turning back to the TV.

Louis hunches his shoulders, already feeling like an absolute arse, when his phone buzzes in his hand, obviously a reply from Zayn.

Y _ou jokin ?! After all this ur just gonna tell him to fuck off ?? U are a bit of a bastard tbh, Lou x_

And then, about thirty seconds later:

_OK that was harsh, sorry :( u should do what u think is best man, i’m not ur mum u can make ur own decisions. just hope ur not making a mistake. be good lou, love u xx_

Louis stares at the text on the screen. How can Zayn possibly think he’s making a mistake by trying to bloody _fix_ this whole thing-- Zayn, who was against the whole thing from the start!

Louis is preoccupied- isn’t even bothering to pay any attention to the film anymore, too busy pondering over what to reply to Zayn that’ll be suitably pointed enough without actually telling him to fuck off, when he hears Harry calling him from the other end of the sofa.

“Lou--Louis, oh my-- _Louis_ ,” he hisses, sounding exasperated and not amused at all when Louis finally looks up from his phone, blinking dumbly across at him.

“Been trying to call you for the past two minutes, you know,” Harry says with a huff. “Love being ignored-- s’great, thanks.” He folds his arms over his chest and sticks his nose up, shifting around on the chair.

“I didn’t-- shit, I didn’t mean to, obviously,” Louis says quickly. “When do I ever ignore you, eh? Just trying to word a text right, that’s all.” He glances back at his phone, like that’s reason enough.

“Mmm,” Harry says, glancing over at Louis. “You’ve been weird as fuck all day, Lou. You gonna tell me what’s wrong, then?” he asks, ever forward. “Like, is it something I’ve done, or....” he trails off, obviously waiting for Louis to elaborate.

So. _This is it then_ , is all Louis can think. _You’re gonna go for it_ \-- _tell him now, quick, like pulling off a plaster._

“Okay. Fuck,” Louis begins, taking a deep and setting his phone down on the arm of the couch. Fuck Zayn and whatever he thinks-- he has to do this.

“Its-- it’s definitely not something you’ve done, Harry,” he says, bringing the heels of his palms up to scrub at his eyes. “Not at all, actually. It’s just...this whole-- this whole _thing_ , like, the... _boyfriend_ thing has to stop. It _needs_ to stop-- it’s a stupid idea, was a stupid idea from the start and it...it just can’t go on,” Louis finishes lamely, head hanging, too scared to even look at Harry’s face. He can only imagine what it’s like.

“Oh,” Harry says quietly, seemingly all he can manage. Louis expected...well, he doesn’t know what he expected. Anger, maybe.

Louis lifts his head to look at Harry, who’s still sitting on the other side of the sofa, blinking over at him.

Oh, God. An angry Harry would be better than this shocked, silent Harry.

Louis feels like an absolute arsehole-- _is_ an absolute arsehole, the worst of the worst. He has to explain, has to tell Harry _why_ he’s doing this--

“The whole thing was ridiculous and stupid and just...fucking mental,” Louis says almost desperately, willing Harry to understand. To know _why._ “I just-- I shouldn’t have dragged you here and made you sit through all this…all this ‘happy families’ bullshit with me, I shouldn’t have even _mentioned_ it in the first place, should have sorted it out myself instead like anyone else would have,” Louis says, breaths coming heavy, fists clenched tightly in his lap. He is a complete fuckup-- always has been, always will be, evidently.

“I mean, who the _fuck--”_ Louis continues _, “_ what _sane_ kind ofperson thinks it’s a good idea to have someone pretend to be their _boyfriend_ so they can...I dunno-- fool their mum instead of telling her the truth like any other normal fucking human being? Hm? I don't know what I was thinking, honestly. I understand if you're, like, angry at me or whatever. I would be.'

Louis sighs, all the fight gone out of him. It’s all out there now-- Harry just has to take it in. Louis’ certainly ready to get his head roared off. He deserves it, frankly, for messing Harry around like he did. He feels kind of numb on the inside, stomach twisting as he watches Harry from the other side of the sofa. He'll probably never want to even see him again-- want nothing to do with him. Understandable, Louis thinks.

'I'm sorry I dragged you into all this, Harry,” Louis starts again. If he’s saying this, he’s going to get it all out. “You could probably be out at a pub somewhere in London right now with your mates if it wasn't for me and my fabulous fucking ideas.”

Louis runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply once more. “I totally get it if you want to get the train back as soon as-- I'll obviously give you the money for it, you wouldn't be here in the first place if it wasn't for me.”

Harry hasn't said a word the whole time Louis has been going on and on-- he's just sat on the other side of the sofa, looking a little bit shell shocked, brow furrowing deeper the more Louis said.  When Louis finally finishes, Harry seems to realise that he's been sat mute, and slowly blinks himself back to life.

“Um--okay,” is all he says at first-- is all he seems able to manage, face a picture of confusion. “But like...where has this come from, Lou? Has your mum said something to you, or what? Cause...I mean, I think it was-- _is_ \-- going brilliantly. Don't you?”

He reaches out for Louis’ hand, grabs it and holds it tight in his own, face peering earnestly up at Louis', eyes wide and forehead creased with worry.

“And as for me being angry-- why on earth would I be?” Harry continues. “You let me come with you and spend Easter with your family and I've been having a fucking _amazing_ time, yeah? Miles better than any amount of pubs in London with my mates,” Harry says, still gripping tightly onto Louis’ hand. “What's brought this on? Is it something I've done? 'Cause if it is, tell me and we can get it sorted out, whatever it is, I promise--”

Louis is going to cry. He’s going to cry right there in his living room with the credits of _The Avengers_ on the TV because Harry Styles is the nicest human being on the planet.

Louis shakes his head, closing his eyes tightly. 'That’s not-- it’s not you at all...I just-- I just feel so awful, making you do all this for me and you're getting nothing out of it-- I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of you at _all_ \--your mum's right,” he says. '”I don’t want anyone to think that--I don't want to have ever pressured you into doing something, or made you do something that was--”

"Wait," Harry interrupts, concerned face now turned to one of confusion. "My _mum?_ How on _earth_ did she-- _oh,"_ he says, sudden realisation seeming to hit him. "I take it that you overheard us on the phone earlier, then?"

Louis looks away guilty-- so now Harry not only thinks he's a complete arsehole, but probably thinks he's a nosy bastard too. He's really not doing himself any favours at _all,_ but it's better that this is said. It's definitely better, whatever the outcome.

"Yeah, er, I might've been about to go into the shower and heard a little... snippet. Or two," Louis answers, voice low. He lifts his head and looks back at Harry, who actually seems considerably calmer now the initial shock of Louis' bombshell seems to have worn off a little and they've talked it through a bit.

"She _is_ right though, Harry," Louis continues, voice louder. "I was -am- taking advantage of you. I've been a selfish prick, basically, and I'm giving you an out. You don't have to keep this up just for me-- I'll make something up for my mum in the morning, tell her we had a falling out and that we've broken up and that you wanted to go back to London first thing. I don't know, I'll make something up. 've always been good at that.' Louis gives a sarcastic snort. Hasn't he just.

"But," Harry begins seriously after a few moments of intense silence. His voice is steady, and he's looking Louis straight in the eye. “What if I don't _want_ an 'out'? What if I _like_ this? What if I want to keep doing this? Did you maybe think about that? 'Cause to me, it sounds like you've done an awful lot of thinking on my behalf without ever asking me how _I_ actually feel about all this. How I feel about _you_ , really.

Harry's still gripping onto his hand, tighter than ever now, and Louis' brain feels like someone's just poured a whole bucket of treacle into it, clogging up all the gears that have been working on overdrive this past week.

Did Harry-- did Harry just say what he thinks he did? Because, really, if he did that's--well, that's fucking mental.

"I--how," Louis stutters, realising Harry's been sat waiting for him to actually say something, "How you-- how you feel about _me?_ What do you--"

" _Yes,"_ Harry says with a slight roll of his eyes, voice sounding very exasperated, "How I feel about you. God, Niall told me you would be a bit slow but this is just-- you really had no idea? Not even an inkling?"

There's a shadow of a smile on Harry's face now as he looks at Louis, who's pretty sure his _own_ face in comparison is a picture of pure, unadulterated confusion, mouth slack in disbelief. "I--er, no, I can't really say that I did?" he says. "When--what did--"

It's obvious Louis is pretty much past speaking in full sentences now, but Harry seems to get the picture, giving a little shake of his head and releasing Louis' hand gently.

Harry takes a deep breath, chest rising, his eyes closed, preparing himself-- almost like he’d been over what he wants to say again and again.

"The very first time I ever saw you--I think it was at Niall's birthday, yeah? I thought you were _so_ fit-- like, really, really fit," Harry begins, opening his eyes again and glancing across at Louis, "and then _you_ started talking to _me,_ which was fucking mental, right? I couldn't believe it-- I was only in London for like, two months and the fittest person I'd ever seen was making the move on _me_...you probably don't even remember," Harry says with an impatient wave of his hand, "but that was a really big deal to me, cause, like, that would've never even been a possibility back home. I mean, like - there, it was all very hush hush _meet-in-the--back-of-the-cinema-for-a-snog_ if you were gay-- like, a taboo or something. It was shit.”

Louis understands-- it was like that in Doncaster too. Everything a big secret - most people at school still in the closet, too scared to come out for fear of what people would say. He'd hated it, and could only imagine how much worse it would have been for poor Harry in the even tinier Holmes Chapel. He nods quietly, squeezing Harry's hand, telling him to go on.

"Anyways," Harry continues, picking at the hole in his jeans above his knee, "that's not really the point, but like I said-- you were talking to _me_ , and I was probably coming across a right pillock, but - whatever. Then, after about an hour, I went to get another drink, and when I came back, you were gone off the sofa and had disappeared somewhere else...and I remember just being so, so disappointed even though I didn't actually _know_ you-- I was annoyed about it for weeks like a right weirdo--'

"But--" Louis interrupts, realisation hitting him suddenly, "It was Niall! Niall told me to stay away from you that night, I remember!--it wasn't me -I wanted to,  but Niall steered me out of the room, and the flat was so crowded and there were so many people there that I didn't see you again the rest of the night. Fuck-- I. That's weird."

"For real? Fucking...that's--I'm gonna have to remember to mention that to him, actually,' Harry says, his brow furrowed before he continues. “But anyways, I thought I'd never see you again, right? And then I got that job at the cafe, and you were there--like, actual you. I couldn't fucking believe it, and I was like...irrationally happy for no apparent reason."

"Same, actually," Louis smiles, embarrassedly ducking his head. He remembers how he felt the first day Harry started-- more or less the same as Harry, like it was the world's biggest coincidence. Like something had maybe aligned somewhere, or something.

"And then," Harry goes on, "I actually got to know you, and you were amazing-- funny and thoughtful and lovely and just-- I dunno, you became someone different to me again, and then like, not even three weeks in to working at the cafe, I realised that I really, really liked you. Like proper liked you."

Harry pauses, and it's just enough for Louis to realise he hasn't really breathed for the whole of Harry's little confessional.

It's enough for him to realise that he feels the exact same. That he probably has all along.

"But, you were forever coming in on your shifts and telling me about your weekends and parties and all the _boys_ and I just... kinda knew it wasn't ever really gonna happen--you liked your life the way it was too much to ever want to have something as silly as a _boyfriend,"_ Harry says, a bashful little smile on his face, glancing up at Louis through his lashes from where his head's tucked down low against his neck.

"And _then,"_ Harry says again, "you came and told me about this whole thing with your mum, and it was like a little lightbulb appeared over my head like ' _Bing! This is your chance, dickhead_!', so I told you I'd do it, jumped at the chance, really, because--well, basically, I thought it'd give me the chance to show you I can be a good boyfriend. That I'd be the kind of person you'd maybe want in your life that way-- like, the kind of person you might need, or something." Harry sighs, a tired kind of sigh, an air of expecting the worst around him. “'S'fucked up, but it's the truth. So no, I'm not angry at you at _all_ , Lou. I'm kind of, maybe, a little bit in love with you instead, and spending this week with you has just made me realise that even more. So." Harry shrugs his shoulders, as if that's the most casual thing anyone's ever said.

Louis is speechless. Actually, properly speechless for the first time in his life.

He can't think, can't even breathe--so he does the only thing he can think of that doesn't involve using words.

He kisses Harry. A proper kiss, not like the one in his room the first day they got here, not like all the little superficial ones they've been passing back and forth for the benefit of his mum throughout the week.

It's a proper kiss, one that Louis hopes lets Harry know everything he wants to say without him actually having to say it

His head is a mess, all over the place, but Louis feels like the one thing keeping him even a little bit sane is Harry's plush mouth working against his own, the gentle push of his tongue against the part of his lips.

Louis opens his mouth to let Harry slide his tongue in, sucking on it greedily as soon as he does. Harry lets out a whimper against his lips, a soft moan that sounds like a ' _finally_ ', like this is exactly what Harry was waiting on over the past however many months.

Louis scoots his hips along the sofa, closer to Harry, who seems to get the message very quickly and removes his hands from where they're sitting on Louis' hips to grab at his arse, lifting him up off the sofa altogether and dropping him down onto his lap, Louis' thighs spread wide around Harry's own, knees bent against the edge of the sofa's cushion.

Louis lets out a breathy giggle against Harry's mouth as he sits down and winds his arms around his neck, pulling Harry flush up against his chest and deepening the kiss further, shivers running through his whole body.

His veins feel electric- like there's a live current fizzing through his body, starting from where his and Harry's mouths are connected, working together slowly.

They kiss like that for however long-- Louis really, really doesn't know, and quite frankly, doesn't really give a shit either-- the only things he truly cares about at this moment in time are Harry's hot, slick mouth and his hands, which are slowly moving from Louis' lower back and sliding down to grip at his arse, big hands spread the whole way across. He's slowly pushing Louis' hips back and forth across his lap, guiding Louis to grind down onto his half-hard dick.

Louis soon gets the message, and plants his knees more securely on either side of Harry's thighs before he starts grinding his hips down purposefully against Harry's crotch- something Harry evidently seems to enjoy, breaking their kiss to groan a "Fuck, Lou-- feels so good, _yeah_ , keep going," against Louis' mouth, his breath warm and sweet against his lips.

"Gonna need you to take that top off right now, Styles," Louis pants in return against his cheek, hips still working against his crotch.

The room feels like it's about a thousand degrees, and Louis detaches himself from Harry's mouth and detangles his arms from around his neck to strip off and fling his own t-shirt onto the back of the sofa. Harry quickly follows suit, his chest smooth and sweat-shiny, expanding and contracting rapidly. Louis attaches his mouth to the space between Harry's ear and his jaw straight away as soon as he sits back, sucking harshly-- he's aiming for a nice purple bruise, thank you very much. He wants a reminder that this actually happened in case everything goes tits up by the morning.

Harry's still gripping onto Louis' arse for dear life, helping him rock his hips back and forth over his dick again and again, his own hips stuttering erratically as he presses breathy moans against Louis' ear.

Louis drags his hands down Harry's now-bare chest, following the line of his tattoos and stopping to briefly pull and tease at one of Harry's seemingly permanently-erect nipples--something he seems to enjoy if the clipped groan of "Fuck!" he lets out is anything to go by, throwing his head back against the top of the sofa.

"Oh," Louis says, leaning down close so he can whisper right into Harry's ear, bringing one hand up to thread through his hair, other still pulling harshly at his nipple, 'Like that, do we? What else do you like, hm? Want me to suck you off, yeah? Reckon you'd like that."

Louis doesn't wait for an answer, starts sliding (a little awkwardly, maybe) down off the sofa and onto his knees, before hooking his hands under Harry's bum and lifting his hips up off the sofa, grabbing his jeans at the waistband and yanking them off unceremoniously, chucking them to the floor beside him.

Harry's wearing plain black Calvin Klein boxer briefs underneath, moulded to the strong, thick muscles of his upper thighs, the outline of his dick straining obviously against the material. There's an ever-blossoming white stain of precome leaking through the front of his pants, and Louis can't help himself but lean down and suck the material into his mouth, lips catching accidently-on-purpose against the sensitive head of Harry's clothed cock, causing him choke out a strangled moan and a, " _Please_ Lou-- please, no teasing," thighs flexing powerfully.

Harry just - he looks so, so delicious  laid out against the sofa, all bare, sweaty skin with his head thrown back and hands splayed out against the cushions, fingernails fruitlessly scrabbling for purchase against the leather as Louis strokes his finger gently against the long curve of his dick.

Louis can't really bear to look at him, with his fluttering eyes and puffy just-kissed mouth and heaving chest-- so, he does the next best thing and pulls down Harry's boxers, exposing his cock to the cold air of the room, causing Harry to hiss.

Louis giggles before leaning back in and taking Harry in hand, slowly pressing wet, noisy kisses along his v-line and happy trail before eventually reaching his dick.

Louis licks a stripe up his own hand, before smoothly jerking Harry up and down a few times, gently kissing all around the base and slowly rubbing at the head with his thumb, blurts of sticky precome coating his fingers.

Louis loves this- always has loved watching someone fall apart because of him, and Harry's certainly not disappointing. He spreads his legs wide and groans loudly once more as Louis finally leans down and suckles the head of Harry's dick into his mouth, moaning happily around his cock as the salty taste coats his tongue before he swallows, a gentle shiver passing through his body. Louis doesn't think he's ever been turned on this much just by giving someone a blowjob before, and it's mindboggling.

Harry's hips jump erratically at the vibrations passing through his dick when Louis' moans, and he pushes further into Louis' mouth, just about nudging the back of his throat. Although he seems to catch himself at the last minute and manages to force his hips down onto the sofa, it's still further than Louis would normally take anyone down and he chokes a little, coming up for air and giving Harry a cheeky little slap on the thigh as a warning, his mouth all spit slick and puffy, Harry choking out a "Sorry."

Louis feels the back of his throat flutter around Harry's cock around the same time as Harry cries out "Oh my god, oh my go--gonna, gonna come Lou, you should--", and he pulls off just in time to have Harry coat his lips and mouth with sticky white strands of his come, a still-connected string popping as Louis shoves a hand down his own pants and starts jerking himself off roughly, too overcome from watching Harry to even consider waiting any longer.

He wanks himself quickly, spreading his knees and throwing his head back, coming with a groan just as Harry breathes from his spot on the sofa, his chest still heaving, "Look so, so good Lou. So good, wanna see you come, come on, come for me, please, you look amazing--" as Louis spills jerkily into his own hand.

Louis collapses back against the sofa, breathing heavy as a now-recovered Harry clambers off and pads over to the box of tissues on top of the cabinet in the corner of the living room, grabbing the box and bringing them back over to Louis.

Once they’ve both calmed down and cleaned themselves up, Louis gets up off the floor and shoves on his boxers, picking Harry’s up on the way and throwing them at him.

Louis plonks himself down on the sofa beside Harry as he’s pulling his pants on, leaning back heavily. Once Harry’s done, it’s weirdly silent, the film finished playing long ago and the room dark, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside in the street shining through the window.

Suddenly, Harry lets out a great bark of laughter, his hand flying up to cover his mouth, body shaking with constrained giggles.

Louis jumps, shocked, and looks over at Harry, a huge grin spreading across his own face as their eyes meet. He brings his hands up to cover his eyes and groans as Harry hiccups himself to calm, still biting his lip to keep himself from laughing.

“Oh. My. _God_ ,” is all Louis can say, “I can’t-- I actually can’t believe we’ve just done that...like, in the living room. In the seat my mum sits on every day...I-- Oh my God, I’ll never be able to look my mother in the face again, fuck--”

“Oh fuck--I can’t--stop, my sides are sore,” Harry crows with laughter again, bringing his hand up to wipe the tears from the corner of his streaming eyes while he clutches at his sides. “I can’t believe we’ve actually gone and done that-- fuck, we’re perverts. We need to be locked up-- your bloody sisters are gonna be in here watching..I dunno- Big Brother or something and--

“Shut up!” Louis says, hitting Harry a whack in the stomach for good measure. Now is _not_ the time to be thinking about that, thanks very much. “Fuck...I-- we’d better get cleaned up, Mum and Dan could be back at any minute-- could you _imagine_ if they walked in now--

Louis makes to gather himself up and get off the sofa, but before he does, Harry grabs his arm and pulls him back down beside him. He’s not laughing anymore, eyes serious as they peer at Louis.

“Before we get up, though--what...what I said-- I meant it, yeah? Like...I want to give it a proper go with you, not just this week-- do you...like, do you get me?” He looks nervous, hand grabbing Louis’ forearm and gnawing his lip.

Louis softens immediately, and lifts Harry’s hand from his forearm into his own hand, squeezing tight. “Of _course_ I want to give this a go. Proper, not just pretend, yeah? We can take it slow, fast, however you want.,” Louis says gently. “And...I’m sorry. For being a dick, and for expecting all this stuff out of you and for dragging you into this and--”

“Lou,” Harry cuts him off, “It’s fine. I’m sorry too, for the record. For not saying anything before and just...yeah. So….” he hesitates, ducking his head, “Can I...can I call you my boyfriend yet, or is it too early? ‘Cause I really want to call you my boyfriend. Fake boyfriend doesn’t really have the same ring to it.”

Louis laughs at that, leaning in to give Harry a chaste peck on the lips. “You can call me whatever you want, sweetcheeks,” he says with a wink. “Everything except ‘honey’--my heart’s never really taken to that one, to be honest,” he wrinkles his nose, smile spreading. “Boyfriend is probably best, though, really.”

They share another quick kiss before Louis pats Harry on his bare stomach and says, “Okay, Harold. We really do need to get sorted out-- get dressed, you caveman, and I’ll tidy up.”

They get the living room sorted out pretty quickly after that, with Louis double and triple checking there’s no stray tissues or items of clothing left lying around, even giving a cursory spray of Febreeze, just to be sure, and when Dan and Jay come back with both sets of twins in tow, it seems no-one is any the wiser. Which really, just makes it much harder for Harry and Louis to keep a straight face from where they’re cuddled up on the sofa.

*

The next few days seem to just fly by in a haze of activity- there’s family members stopping by with Easter Eggs for the girls at all hours of the day, meaning more introductions for Harry (which really, Louis doesn’t mind at all because it means he gets to introduce him as ‘my boyfriend’, and this time it’s for real, even if it’s only him and Harry that know the difference.)

The weather picks up on the Friday, so a lot of the day is spent in the garden, Louis sitting on one of the deck chairs listening to the radio and watching Harry as he plays with the girls to no end, doing whatever activity they see fit to torture him with without any complaints.

Then, the day after turns out to be hotter again- one of the hottest days of the year so far, temperatures hitting the mid-twenties (scorching for England in the spring, really), so Louis’ mum decides to invite some of the neighbours, along with both sets of grandparents, around for a barbeque. It’s a beautiful day, the sun washing the whole of the patio in the back garden in light and making it seem like they’re somewhere along the French Riviera, rather in the middle of Doncaster.

Louis makes Harry take about a million selfies with him, and decides to send one of them having a quick kiss under the tree in the back garden to Zayn, an angel emoji attached. Zayn replies more or less straight away, with about twenty of the smug-face emojis, before sending on a similar picture of himself and Perrie, obviously doing the exact same as them and enjoying the sun from Perrie’s back garden in Newcastle. It makes Louis smile, and he sends a little _‘love you, man x_ ’ on.

It’s Louis and Harry’s last day in Doncaster on the Easter Sunday, so after a mini-Easter Egg hunt for the girls and the huge lunch his mum made, they’re all packed up, ready to say their thank yous and goodbyes before getting the five o’clock train back to London.

Louis’ mum bids them a bit of a tearful goodbye, giving them both a tight hug. She whispers quietly into Louis’ ear before releasing him, “Please, please don’t let this one get away, Lou. He’s so good for you, I can see it--S’the way you look at him and he looks at you. Be good, darling, and get home safe, okay? Love you. So much,” before giving him one final eye-busting squeeze.

She does the same to Harry as Louis’ saying goodbye to the girls, whispering something in his ear that causes a huge smile to bloom across his face, his arms tightening around Jay’s waist. Louis almost tempted to interrupt and ask what it is that she’s saying, but he’s got Daisy and Phoebe buried in his neck and not letting go, obviously not keen on him leaving again.

Eventually, they get out of the house without any stray children hanging on to their legs.

They’ve been on the train back to London for about forty minutes, the sky getting darker as the countryside flashes past, lights from the inside of the train meaning their own reflections are staring back at them in the windows.

Louis’ lying down across the seats of the train, head in Harry’s lap, who’s gently threading his finger through Louis’ hair, one hand rested on his stomach, the other hand texting away on his phone as usual.

“Y’know,” Harry begins after a while, setting his phone on the table, “If we got off at the next station, we could get a train to Holmes Chapel and be there in like...less than an hour. Just saying.”

Louis sits up a little from where he’s lying, abs straining as he turns his neck to look up at Harry. “Whatever are you insinuating, Harold? That you want me to meet the parents?” He raises his eyebrow playfully before lying back down in Harry’s lap. “Thought they were in Austria for like... a week and a half, anyways? They wouldn’t even be there yet.”

“Yeah, but they’re back tomorrow afternoon. Might be a nice little surprise for my mum, haven’t seen her in ages-- and it means we can explain what happened in person, so she doesn’t hate you too much.” Harry pokes him playfully in the side.

“Harold, she’d meet me and fall instantly in love-- there’s nothing to hate about all this,” Louis says sarcastically, passing a hand over his body and wiggling his hips.

“Shut up, Lou,” Harry laughs, giving Louis’ head a shove with his leg. “Seriously, though-- we’re not working for the next couple of days, and we’ve got a washing machine at my mum’s for our clothes. What d’you reckon? I’d really like you to meet them. 

Louis considers, closing his eyes as Harry continues running his hands through his hair. It _would_ be nice to meet Harry’s mum and set the record straight, let her know he’s not actually completely batty, and considering she doesn’t seem to have the highest opinion of him anyways, it might be the best idea.

Also, he’d like to see Harry’s home-- where he spent all his childhood and his teenage years, maybe meet more of his family. It’d be nice to see-- to experience, especially when Harry got to do the same with Louis for the past week.

Louis opens his eyes, smiling fondly up at Harry. “Alright then, Curly. Let’s go. When’s the next stop?”

_Here we go again,_ Louis thinks to himself as Harry grabs their bags down from the rack above them.

Except this time, it’s for real, and Louis couldn’t be happier.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!! i hope you enjoyed xo  
> and i've got [ tumblr](http://dicapriohmygod.tumblr.com) if you want to say hi/ be my friend!!


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